Hangovers should seriously be reserved for dead people, they’re the only ones capable of appreciating such misery. In the past (and by past, I mean decades ago, maybe last weekend) I used to drink a lot…..A LOT! I’m not terribly proud of my behavior, but it did allow me to rack up a large quantity of funny stories, most of which I can remember. I preferred to drink until I could feel my legs floating above my head, but not so much I’d have one of those hellish, three day hangovers. You see, a three day hangover is the type of misery where you ask God for the sweet embrace of death, only to have God answer with an emphatic, “NO! FIRST YOU MUST SUFFER!” Suffer I did, during those times. There’s a fine line between drinking to the point of leg floating bliss and death headaches, a line I regrettably crossed all to often.
When I was in the military, I drank as much as I thought I could reasonably get away with, then just a tiny bit more. When I was in college, I drank just enough for Texas A&M University to grant me a bachelors degree in International Studies with a minor in Beer Fart Etiquette. During summers in college, I was an ocean rescue lifeguard on the beautiful New Jersey Shore. Going home after 10 hours of lifeguarding was a total waste of time as there were numerous beach parties to attend and bars to be frequented. I was home long enough to feed Harley the cat, myself and to make sure the house didn’t burn down.
I’ve had hangovers so severe, opening my eyes caused gigantic earthquakes inside my skull that were actually registered by the U. S. Geological Survey. That’s not necessarily a good thing.
During Christmas vacation, my twin brother and I would drive home to New Jersey from Texas. For three years in a row we had New Years Eve parties that are still the stuff of legend, talked about in hushed voices and secret handshakes due to the nature of what occurred. Our backyard was often packed with snow, so instead of putting all the alcohol in ice chests or the refrigerator, we simply threw hundreds of beer cans and bottles into the snow to keep them cold. It was a wondrous sight to behold.
I actually don’t behave like this anymore. It’s just not worth the horrifying misery of the dreaded hangover, it’s really not. Plus, I’ve discovered through careful research that drinking to excess like I did, only exacerbated my depression and anxiety problems. In essence, the alcohol made my depression much worse. When I consider my past, it amazes me on a daily basis that I’ve been blessed to have accomplished as much as I have.
Please don’t forget to share, comment, like ect…if you do maybe we’ll go for a brew someday.
- The U. S. Geological Survey needs to study hangover earthquake headaches, they’re a real thing.
- Alcohol and depression are not friends.
- God knows what he’s doing.