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.
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