You had originally planned on staying in for the weekend as finances were a little tight, and a weekend away from the beer would have ‘put you in good stead’. However, you went for a few handy drinks on Friday, just to take the edge off, and it turned into a riot. You woke up the following morning with that carefree attitude that only a man who is still half cut can possess, and made arrangements for another big one.
You did consider, for a moment, the repercussions that this would bring, but quickly dismissed them, thinking “I’ll worry about all that tomorrow.” And you went all out; buying drinks like you were Puff Daddy. You stayed out until the early hours of the morning drinking red wine out of a mug, subconsciously knowing that, as soon as the madness ended, reality would have to be faced.
That brought you to where you are now, Sunday night, caressing your duvet in the hope that it will be as kind in return. Running through your mind are 1001 things, none of which are positive. The uncertainty of your financial situation is crippling you and you have no idea as to how many dollars you may have forfeited throughout the weekend’s debauchery. You have online banking, alas; The Fear won’t allow you to check it.
Your memory is a bit slippery from Saturday night, also. You know that you met your ex-girlfriend at some stage, but you can’t remember what you might have said to her. You worry that you may have text her, or anyone else who you shouldn’t have been texting, and again it is the uncertainty that drives you to the edge. You have a sent items folder in your phone, of course, but The Fear also prohibits the reading of such messages.
No matter what you think about, negativity is the underlying theme. There are moments when it feels like there is no way out, and there isn’t, you just have to deal with it. There is no cure, just hang on to that duvet and ride out the storm.
The good news is that you will be okay by Tuesday. The bad news, however, is that you will be perfect by Friday and The Fear will have slipped past your radar, lulling you into a false sense of security and encouraging you to do it all over again. It’s a f*cker like that.