I can't be trusted to act like an adult, ever. I spent yesterday dying a horrible, horrible, self-induced death ten times over. The last two things I remember from the night before (the wedding after party) are swimming in the middle of a tropical cyclone (though the details of the swim are pretty hazy) and delivering a full bodied slap to someone's face (no idea who). That last was part of a game, not malicious, but....still.
I am so, so ashamed of myself for not knowing my limits.
If driving two and a half hours home over some of the windiest roads in New Zealand counts as punishment, well, then I've been well and truly punished. But I'm still cracking a whip of self-flagellation and I still physically feel like shit over 36 hours later. Just charming. I carried plastic bags of puke + shame in the car on the way home, while P (god bless his compassionate and understanding heart) drove as carefully and smoothly as he could possibly manage. We took an hour's breather at Thames. I reclined the seat, swallowed the vomit and asked P to go eat outside, anywhere away from me.
So, the wedding was lovely but I got carried away. Awful, immature behaviour and I while I know my in-laws are amazing and very understanding I. Am. Mortified.
I'm not typing this out of any sense of misplaced pride in my actions (trust me, there's no whoooo! such a kah-razy night! here. More OH FUCK WHAT DID I DO AND WHYYYYYYY). I am utterly ashamed and by god I mean to remember this lesson.
Have I got a problem with the demon drink? Judging by my performance, it would seem that there is a good chance. I'm 31 for fuck's sake and I have had PLENTY of chances to learn my lesson. Why I would get black out boozed is just...beyond me. If you've got any material thoughts about this, plz to tell.
Off to turn over a new leaf.