retox (03.02.07 – 04.02.07)

sooo... i didn’t really plan a retox this weekend... but guess it was inevitable after my super quiet detox jan. a bender had my name written all over it from the moment i stepped into the wimbledon walkie for a quiet beer to discuss future house plans.

i had planned to sort out the house lease, go home to a healthy lunch, head off to gym, then chill out in front of one our dodgy dvd’s (a certain housemate, who shall remain unnamed because he is portuguese and would kill me, can organise any of the latest dvd’s before they even hit the silver screen – we have recently therefore had viewings of babel, blood diamond, apocalypto, rocky balboa, jackass 2, employee of the month, and errr... meet joe black... five times), and eventually curl up into bed with my warm fuzzy dreams of tessa (things are going well between us... i recently met her parents in one of my dreams).

that was my plan. but the soul of the world had something else in mind for me. and as we all know, you can’t escape fate... or beer. one beer leads to another. and another. and another. we’ve all been there. fcked on the euphoria of being retoxicated. and the promise of women. i hadn’t planned on detoxing on ladies... but they kinda go hand in hand. no booze, no birds. one of the universal laws of nature. like the law of gravity: not immediately obvious, but very real... and one that can have very serious consequences should one fail to heed the warning signs (errr... what am i banging on about???).

anyway so i stepped into the walkie at 2pm. football games came and went. rugby breezed on by in a haze of alcohol. folks fleeted in and out of my consciousness: porto, grant, wiggy all rocked up / left at some stage. the afternoon came. and then went. and still the beer was flowing down my throat, each drop promising to quench an quenchable thirst.

it’s weird. i haven’t been nicely boozed in a while now. i used to get boozed and have sooo much fun. now it’s like i’m trying too hard to have a good time. and the less of a good time i’m having, the more i drink to kick-start me into the mood to have a good time. and the more i drink, the more i expect to have a good time. and the more i expect, the less of a good time i have. until my behaviour becomes really erratic and unpredictable and desperate. and i wake the next morning thinking: “oh my god... can’t believe i did that last night”. and that’s what happened on sun.

i awoke with images of me cruising around zulu’s like some desperado hobo, with a beer stained top, and reeking of kentucky, trying unsuccessfully to pull anything under the errr... zulu’s nightclub roof. and the most embarrassing part is that rejection after rejection didn’t deter me. i just ploughed on relentlessly. the school friends i bumped into must have been shaking heads thinking: “who would ever have thought... he was such a nice boy at school”. hmmm...

anyway... sooo... retox... not pleasant. and it’s def not all it’s cracked up to be. best avoid at all costs. and therefore the moral of this particular story is: don’t detox ever – that way you’ll never have to retox.