The Drunk In My Past

I have officially forgotten how to sleep. Since I awoke Sunday morning, I have lain in bed or on the couch for nearly twenty hours. By my estimate, no more than four of those hours were actually spent sleeping. My head is pounding, my back constantly aches, my throat feels like it has been sliced by rusty razors, I have no voice at all and my soul hurts.

Now, it could be the dramatic change of seasons we experience here in Minnesota that is affecting me so adversely. A few short weeks ago it was 80 degrees and sunny. It has now been 50 degrees and raining for several days. Brutal.

It could also be the emotional letdown after my Minnesota Twins were dispatched from World Series contention with incredible haste by a team that, as it turns out, had even less collective ability to hit a baseball. Unbearable.

Or...I suppose it could possibly be the activities of this past weekend that have me in such a funk. Late this past Sunday I returned from a weekend trip to parts east of Virginia, Minnesota. It's a semiannual jaunt up north for a couple days of poker and male camaraderie with a few close friends of mine. I like to call it the "The Semiannual See How Much Five Grown Men Can Drink In A Drafty Log Cabin Up North With Two Stinky Dogs And A Freezer Full Of Pizza and Bacon Without Widowing Their Wives Extravaganza" (I know, the title is a bit lengthy...but it is descriptive).

This celebration is usually followed by a weeklong period of decompression and detoxification which I like to call "Hell Week". This begins when the alarm clock rings the following Monday morning, as it did yesterday, wrapping up 8 glorious hours of tossing, turning and profuse amounts of sweat.

So the detoxification has begun. Actually, it began retroactive to Sunday afternoon when I had my last gin and tonic...but it will continue for a full week after that. Unless, of course, someone were to offer me a drink. It would be rude of me to turn such a gracious offer down and, frankly, nobody likes a rude drunk.

I must also have wine with my dinner. A meal without wine is like, well, breakfast...unless Bloody Marys are being served. Then it's not like breakfast at all. In fact, breakfast isn't even like breakfast without Bloody Marys, and my doctor told me I need to eat breakfast every morning. So that's settled.

Then there's Thursday Trivia at Keegan's where at least two pints of Guinness shall be required. Oh, and I can't forget happy hour on Friday, game one of the World Series on Saturday and the NFL on Sunday afternoon.

There it is in black and white then, my detoxification plan. Bloody Marys at breakfast, wine at dinner with Guinness on Thursday night followed by a long happy hour on Friday and a weekend full of sporting events and beer. All of this is punctuated, of course, by knocking back whatever an acquaintance of mine may wish to buy me anytime in-between (strongly discouraged as I AM trying to recover here, people).

By the time I reach my target, 3:00 on Sunday afternoon, I shall be fully detoxified and ready to celebrate with a delicious Bombay Sapphire martini.

It's gonna be a rough week.