There are some Sundays that come around and kick you arse so hard you wish you could go back in time and undo the chaos you got caught up in the night before.
At sometime around 7 this morning a feeling started burning inside me like my guts were on fire. It rose steadily up my throat, roasting me alive inch by inch as whatever evil concoction I’d mixed in my stomach last night fought desperately to see the light of day.
When I feel like this, I know I’m in for a rough two hours. I got a hiatus hernia that probably needs fixing, I saw a doctor about it awhile back and he gave me some meds to fix it, but if I don’t take this pill at the same time everyday, even if I’m a few hours out, I start to suffer.
Then if I take the meds, it flares up before it gets better and for about two hours I feel like I’m being burnt alive by industrial strength acid from the inside out.
In my head I remember Alien, specifically the scene where they try and cut the alien off Kane (John Hurt) when it first attaches to his face and they find out that its blood is so corrosive it eats through two floors.
That’s what I reckon would happen if you cut me when my reflux is bad.
J-Rab got up to go to work and then visit the place where she used to work so she could see her buddy ol’ pal, the Siberian Tiger Baloo. I lay in bed and entertained thoughts that I might actually have died the night before and was now in hell.
I ate my way through half a pack of Rennies, a double dose of my meds and two of the painkillers they gave after my shoulder operation to try and knock my headache out.
On mornings like these, the Kris Kristofferson song ‘Sunday Morning Coming Down’ becomes the story of my life:
“Well I woke up Sunday morning,
With no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes,
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
An’ I shaved my face and combed my hair,
An’ stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.
I’d smoked my brain the night before,
On cigarettes and songs I’d been pickin’.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid,
Cussin’ at a can that he was kicking.
Then I crossed the empty street,
‘n caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin’ chicken.
And it took me back to somethin’,
That I’d lost somehow, somewhere along the way.
On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
‘Cos there’s something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there’s nothin’ short of dyin’,
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin’ city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin’ comin’ down.
In the park I saw a daddy,
With a laughin’ little girl who he was swingin’.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
And listened to the song they were singin’.
Then I headed back for home,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin’.
And it echoed through the canyons,
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.
On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
‘Cos there’s something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there’s nothin’ short of dyin’,
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin’ city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin’ comin’ down.
Do do do do do do do do,
Do do do do do do do,
Do do do do do do do do,
Do do do do do do do.
To fade
I mean, how excellent is that song? Read it, really read those fucking lyrics! ‘Do do do do do do do do’! Have you ever heard a more compelling call to action?! Do! DO!
So anyway, eventually the couch healed me, don’t ask me how, but by just sitting upright on it for about an hour, staring at the TV even though it was off, I slowly started to feel better and better and last night slowly swam into focus.
Probably the first thing that came back was me asking one of Graumpot’s Indian guests at his housewarming braai yesterday if she had any black heritage. I mean c’mon! That’s a perfectly innocuous question right? Right?
No. Not right. Wrong. Apparently she spent the rest of the night asking everyone if she looked black in this desperate, paranoid kind of way. I did not mean to upset her in any way, but ended up probably ruining her evening.
Oops.
Otherwise I behaved well. Also, I came up with a new stroke of genius when it comes to remembering the crazy thoughts I have so I can blog about them later, I use this advanced piece of technology called the ‘voice recorder’ on my cell phone.
I just opened my voice files from yesterday and came across the following:
1. ‘Terminator car. Running from right through the car window, around the back and into the left rear view mirror. Stop’
2. ‘We gotta get out of this place’ playing on Graum’s car stereo.
3. A note to write a letter to Josh Homme and post it on my site. This is the gayest idea I’ve ever had.
4. An interview with Graum’s girlfriend M-Class while she was making potato salad with bacon.
5. My attempt at trying to get everyone at the party to tell me their nick names. Fail.
So yeah, great idea there Slick. Life changing stuff. Dun duuunnnnnn!
I drank a bottle of brandy last night, basically put the entire bottle down except for an inch on the bottom. I drank it with coke, which is what I think triggered the intense heartburn this morning.
Remember kids, don’t do what Tiger-Don’t does. Drinking an entire bottle of brandy is never, ever a good idea. It’s a miracle that asking a girl if one of her folks was black is the only thing I did.
J-Rab came late cause she had her office Christmas party and I was so happy to see her, I followed her into the bathroom and hugged her legs while she was trying to pee. Much hilarity ensued. About half an hour later I curled up in her lap (my happy place) and passed out.
It was good to see Graum and M-Class though, they just finished doing a TEFL course so they’ve been scarce over the past few weeks. Peggles and PGF were also there, they didn’t get too fucked up though cause this morning they wanted to go cycling (?)
Good people, good times.
Now it’s Sunday evening and I’m keen to hit the sack and start sawing a couple logs.
Later masturbators 😉
-ST
