The Next Day . . .
Doing coke during the week is always a different animal than doing it on the weekend. No matter how much powder I put down on a weeknight, the next morning, I have no choice but to drag myself out of bed and head on in to work. When I do blow during the week, I probably do it in more moderation than I otherwise would, because I have to work the next day. Plus, when I'm blowing lines during the week, often-times I'm by myself--and I always tend to do less blow when there's no one else around. By myself, it's always less of a party.
Some weekday mornings--most weekday mornings--there's nothing I would rather do than stay in my bed and sleep it off until sunset. But until I get fired or arrested, waking up is just something I'll have to deal with, and 90% of the time, I manage to get it done. After all, a brotha's gotta eat, right? And if I lose my job, I'll no longer be able to "pull my dinner from my pocket," if you know what I mean.
Truth be told, the fact that I have a day-job is probably a good thing for me, both in terms of my physical and my mental health. If I didn't have a reason to wake up in the morning, there's no doubt in my mind that I wouldn't. After all, that is what I do on the weekends. When I go out on a weekend-night and hit the sauce, I go at it in full force, knowing that I don't have to get up the next morning and account for anything. And most weekends, I don't, and usually end up staying out till sunrise, and getting into bed for the rest of the day. And if I didn't have the opportunity to do it all again the next weekend night, chances are I would stay in bed till the next day. I like it in my bed. Sure, it's a cliche, but it truly is one of the few places in this world where I feel entirely safe.
This weekend, like so many others, was just such a weekend. Friday night I went out hard and came home late. And by late, of course, I mean early the next morning. As a result, I spent the entire day Saturday sleeping it off. Saturday night at around 11, I got up, got out of bed, got ready, and went out to do it all over again. Today, like yesterday, I spent the whole day in bed. Only moments ago, at 11:00 pm, did I get up for the first time today, to have a shower and get a bite to eat. And if I didn't have to work tomorrow, I'd surely have another evening like my last two. But tomorrow morning, I have to be in to work early, so I'm trying to take a night off, if I can. The night is still young, and I'm not out of blow, so it remains to be seen how this little experiment will work out.
Don't think that I don't recognize that by spending the weekends the way I do, I'm basically sleeping my life away. In all honesty, I can't remember the last weekend when I didn't waste an entire day attempting to recover from the night before. And over the last few months, I've noticed that my ability to recover has been in sharp decline. Perhaps it's the fact that I'm getting older, or perhaps it's the fact that years and years of hard partying is finally catching up to me, and my body can no longer tolerate my "tendencies" the way it once did. In reality, it's probably a confluence of the two.
There's nothing I would rather be able to do than to find a middle ground, and be able to go out at night and be able to wake up the next day, fully functional, and enjoy the daylight hours the way humans are supposed to. Unfortunately, this option isn't in the cards at this point in my life. So I've been forced to make a choice--stop my incessant partying, and experience life as the rest of the world knows it, or continue my nocturnal ways, and sleep away the little free time I have on the weekends for a few party filled-nighttime hours. Such a huge part of me wants to choose the former, or at the very least, cut down on the latter. But no matter what I tell myself during the week, when the weekend comes, I always find myself in the same place--at night, around a coffee table with others like me, lining up godfathers on a mirror or a plate, and during the day, in my bed, trying to sleep away the dangerous reality that has become my life--if you can even call it that anymore.
I'm more aware than you can imagine of what I am becoming--or perhaps, what I've already become. But for right now, anyway, I just don't have it in me to stop. What is scarier than that, however, is that I'm pretty sure I don't want to.
Some weekday mornings--most weekday mornings--there's nothing I would rather do than stay in my bed and sleep it off until sunset. But until I get fired or arrested, waking up is just something I'll have to deal with, and 90% of the time, I manage to get it done. After all, a brotha's gotta eat, right? And if I lose my job, I'll no longer be able to "pull my dinner from my pocket," if you know what I mean.
Truth be told, the fact that I have a day-job is probably a good thing for me, both in terms of my physical and my mental health. If I didn't have a reason to wake up in the morning, there's no doubt in my mind that I wouldn't. After all, that is what I do on the weekends. When I go out on a weekend-night and hit the sauce, I go at it in full force, knowing that I don't have to get up the next morning and account for anything. And most weekends, I don't, and usually end up staying out till sunrise, and getting into bed for the rest of the day. And if I didn't have the opportunity to do it all again the next weekend night, chances are I would stay in bed till the next day. I like it in my bed. Sure, it's a cliche, but it truly is one of the few places in this world where I feel entirely safe.
This weekend, like so many others, was just such a weekend. Friday night I went out hard and came home late. And by late, of course, I mean early the next morning. As a result, I spent the entire day Saturday sleeping it off. Saturday night at around 11, I got up, got out of bed, got ready, and went out to do it all over again. Today, like yesterday, I spent the whole day in bed. Only moments ago, at 11:00 pm, did I get up for the first time today, to have a shower and get a bite to eat. And if I didn't have to work tomorrow, I'd surely have another evening like my last two. But tomorrow morning, I have to be in to work early, so I'm trying to take a night off, if I can. The night is still young, and I'm not out of blow, so it remains to be seen how this little experiment will work out.
Don't think that I don't recognize that by spending the weekends the way I do, I'm basically sleeping my life away. In all honesty, I can't remember the last weekend when I didn't waste an entire day attempting to recover from the night before. And over the last few months, I've noticed that my ability to recover has been in sharp decline. Perhaps it's the fact that I'm getting older, or perhaps it's the fact that years and years of hard partying is finally catching up to me, and my body can no longer tolerate my "tendencies" the way it once did. In reality, it's probably a confluence of the two.
There's nothing I would rather be able to do than to find a middle ground, and be able to go out at night and be able to wake up the next day, fully functional, and enjoy the daylight hours the way humans are supposed to. Unfortunately, this option isn't in the cards at this point in my life. So I've been forced to make a choice--stop my incessant partying, and experience life as the rest of the world knows it, or continue my nocturnal ways, and sleep away the little free time I have on the weekends for a few party filled-nighttime hours. Such a huge part of me wants to choose the former, or at the very least, cut down on the latter. But no matter what I tell myself during the week, when the weekend comes, I always find myself in the same place--at night, around a coffee table with others like me, lining up godfathers on a mirror or a plate, and during the day, in my bed, trying to sleep away the dangerous reality that has become my life--if you can even call it that anymore.
I'm more aware than you can imagine of what I am becoming--or perhaps, what I've already become. But for right now, anyway, I just don't have it in me to stop. What is scarier than that, however, is that I'm pretty sure I don't want to.
posted by J at 7:57 PM
7 Comments:
Get prepared, it's just going to get worse. Next month is Suckuary, the worst month of the year. It's amazing that the shortest month of the year can suck so bad but it does and the usage reaches an all time high during Suckuary. It's the only way to forge through the heinousness.
ahh, sleeping the weekend away, its one of the many downfalls of having too much fun on the weekend nights. I have to say I rather enjoyed being sober this weekend, and waking up at 9:00 instead of trying to wake people up at 9:00 am looking for more shit.
okay people.. there is a way to do it and feel better...
www.sinucleanse.com
rinse after you party before going to bed... you get a better sleep.. will wake up with more energy and be able to do "normal stuff"...
In the long run...cos you will feel better you may do fewer rails...
Let's admit it sometimes we do rails cos we feel physically poor and the rails perk us up...
Here's my last hint from "Coke-o-wese"..for post party depression... take SAMe... they sell it at Duane Reade.. take pre-party...and post party the day after... great for E parties too..
I recommend the 400's.... don't take at night..
During the week, you gotta just start early and finish early. I can hoover like a champ after work for 5 hours and still be in bed by 2am. (another great product: Ocean Gel. Prevents the dreaded morning nose agony)
You arn't missing a damn thing. I took a break this weekend and did the same thing that I would have done if I went on a 48 hour bender: sat in bed watching tv and ordering takeout. I think I went outside a total of 4 times the whole weekend.
"I'm more aware than you can imagine of what I am becoming--or perhaps, what I've already become. But for right now, anyway, I just don't have it in me to stop. What is scarier than that, however, is that I'm pretty sure I don't want to."
....is anyone else fucking creeped out as much as I am by his writing? It's eerily similar to my inner thoughts, almost verbatim....oh well, welcome to addiction?
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