So in a lapse of judgment a few days ago I got super sweet Jesus drunk with some friends. I mean like all the drunk. I drank all the beers. How many? All of them. In retrospect this was a bad decision. Actually scratch that, I knew it was a bad decision at the time, I was just too drunk to give a crap.
Which was in retrospect, even more of a bad sign.
So lets just say that by the time I made it to the bedroom I had lost vertical hold and I immediately abandoned Operation: Bed in favor of Operation: Towel Fort on the Bathroom Floor Praying for Death. Just then my Super Best Friend texted me because she never sleeps. Or is a vampire or something.
This is our conversation edited heavily because I just got this new smart phone like a week ago and typing on it's tiny keypad when I was drunk was like trying to hit one ant out of twenty with the blunt end of a fire extinguisher.
It was hard is what I am saying.
So it's time for another drunk texting adventure with Holly. You're thrilled, I know.
ME: I am Trashed. The room isn't quite spinning but I have lost my vertical hold. Like, every time I try to lay in bed the room spins but the bathroom is cold as fuck.
SUPER BEST FRIEND: Towel Fort?
ME: Why the Fuck is alcohol legal? Why god why? So cold. So bathroom.
ME: Why does the bathroom vent run ALL THE TIME!?
SUPER BEST FRIEND: I always wonder that too but that's always why I sit in the bathroom when I am way too drunk because it's like a cold shiny cave.
ME: May be trapped in bathroom. Please do not abandon me now.
SUPER BEST FRIEND: That's the worst.
ME: Help meeeeeee.
SUPER BEST FRIEND: I would chug water, either it will cause you to throw up or rehydrate you.
ME: Well I drank a bunch of water and it hurts.
SUPER BEST FRIEND: I'm surprised your doing this well with your texting.
ME: Yeah, it's like I am being forced to transcribe messages onto the side of a mouse. Considering I can't stand up, me too.
SUPER BEST FRIEND: The key pads are pretty tiny.
ME: At least I know someone is on my side. Well besides the toilet. He may be on my side. Hard to tell with toilets.
SUPER BEST FRIEND: ...
ME: Night one of the arctic expedition. Temperature drop not unexpected but very cold. Despite building barrier wall fort bed was swept by nausea windstorm. Have hunkered down to whether storm.
ME: Water supplies low. Must brave Mt. Sink in order to make it till morning.
ME: It will be a dangerous climb. I cannot attempt summit directly. I must travel up the south face to reach the summit.
ME: The locals call the south face only “toilet.” I have yet to puzzle out it's meaning.
ME: I have gained the summit. Although at much cost. Was forced to rest on toilet.
ME: The cold grows worse as the night deepens. I have made it back to lower base camp towels.
ME: All seems undisturbed. The high cold winds of the summit are not as strong here.
ME: Still the ever present wind is here. It is a constant hand pressing on me. Numbing my fingers and toes.
ME: I have to stay awake. I have to keep my fingers and toes from freezing. Will never reach morning if I cannot use hands. Hope to recover base camp bed.
ME: Was it the folly of man that led me here? To the ends of the hospitable world? Was it a driving need to feel such remote places reflected in oneself that drove me?
ME: Extremities losing feeling. I must attempt base camp bed or I may perish.
ME: If I do not make it, I hope this journal will be found. May it be my last will and testament.
ME: Water supplies low.
ME: After a long and grueling journey I have made it to base camp bed.
ME: Most of my gear is still intact. Praise god that I may keep my fingers and toes.
ME: Pray that I will see morning. Wind has died down. Storm nausea his lost its fury. Tent bed no longer snaps and heaves in the wind. No longer does the wind threaten to raise my tent and loose it from it's moorings and cast me asunder.
ME: I may yet sleep and await the late arctic dawn.
ME: However I must upon waking resume my trek to Mt. Sink for water supplies are again low.
ME: Due to my dire situation I found I could not eat. So I hope with the cold arctic dawn my apatite shall return.
ME: Believe now that I will see morning. Base camp bed warming up. I feel grateful to be alive in this great cold wasteland. Grateful to have come. To test myself against the brittle rocks of fortune.
ME: All may yet be well.
SUPER BEST FRIEND: I feel this is the beginning of a great children's story book about being sick lol.
ME: I know right?
SUPER BEST FRIEND: Ha hah I miss drunken nights with you.
And then we had ALL THE FEELS and then the next morning I got a hangover that lasted THE ENTIRE GODDAMN DAY. Because getting older kinda blows.
Just a little.
And yes I really did text my friend all of that when I was drunk and trapped on the bathroom floor at like, two in the morning. Also I apparently turn into an eighteenth century explorer when I am super drunk.
Because I am like, a super writer who doesn't let pesky things like hand eye coordination and sobriety get in her way of writing a banging story which is pretty inspirational if you think about it.
Except for the toilet bit.