Blogging from my iPod touch

So, my flatmate is using my laptop to do Zumba. I don't mind at all, I downloaded it years ago and to be honest I'm just glad that someone's actually using it. As a result, I'm writing this entry on my iPod.

Last night I got completely, totally, absolutely shit-faced. It. Was. Awesome. Luke came over, Maria didn't because she's lame, and our neighbour Poleta came over instead. So we spent a few hours drinking, I had somewhere between eight and ten drinks. We also got very, very stoned, because as it turns out, Poleta's cousin sells incredibly skunky weed. So by half past six or so, both myself and Luke were incredibly wasted. Sam much less so, and Poleta barely at all. Me and Sam danced. This morning she said she had no memory of dancing, but she had been wondering why her quads were sore.

The complications (for me) arose when Sam said we had to walk Luke home. By that stage I was aware that I was very drunk and also very stoned, and had decided that staying perfectly still was probably in my best interests. So I somehow managed to stand and move forwards in a manner that for the most part resembled walking. Although it is entirely possible that what I was actually doing was shambling, given how very wasted I was.

(Post continued on laptop, where typing is faster and safer.)

So we got about halfway to Luke's place when my feet got all tangled up in each other and also the pavement. I fell onto some gloriously soft (and dewy) grass, and spent what may have been a long time considering just staying there and having a sleep. But Sam was waiting, so I somehow made my way back to my feet and continued my journey. We got to Luke's place, turned around, and headed home.

According to Sam, the journey home took us an hour and a half. This is not a large distance to walk. I know that I kept stopping to touch things, because I wanted to feel lots of different stuff, and I know that we were pretty sure there was a white van following us for a while. We eventually made it to the fish and chip shop, where Sam ordered, and I sat in a booth feeling totally out of it and wishing I had remained deposited on the floor in between the green chair and the blue sofa, because it was incredibly comfortable and the room was having trouble staying still. Anywho, there was a guy in the fish and chip shop as well as us, and it turned out he was pretty wasted too. We had a conversation which consisted of things such as how awesome it was to be wasted, and how "God" is an incredibly short and insignificant name for a being that created the universe.

We got home. I sat on the yellow sofa and most likely demanded a spring roll, because I got a spring roll. I remember telling Sam multiple times that she was a good friend, and I felt very, very sleepy. I may, in fact, have slept. I remember holding onto my spring roll, then Sam came along and I thought she was stealing it from me, but she was just putting it elsewhere so I didn't drop it. Over time, she also shut both lounge room doors, because I'd been sitting there with them open as it got colder. She told me today that she was actually quite worried and thought I'd gone into a coma and wasn't sure if she should call an ambulance or not. I'm glad she didn't.

Around 11pm I finally shambled my way to bed, after pissing like a racehorse and somehow putting on my pyjamas. I'm not sure how well I slept, I was finding it hard to distinguish between being asleep and being awake, so I probably slept quite well. I woke up at almost exactly 4am, needing to piss desperately again, and feeling slightly nauseous. So I went to the toilet, had a drink of water, and took a bucket to bed with me. I was fully aware that the nausea was most likely dehydration so I wasn't too bothered. I didn't throw up though, which was good.

This morning we had McDonalds and it was amazing. We got 5 chicken mccheese burgers between us, and a small chips which it turned out neither of us wanted. We had two and a half burgers each, and I felt so much better after loading my system with such an epic amount of grease.

Then I had my appointment with Judy, which actually went alright, and I must have sobered up somewhat by then because she didn't seem phased by my condition. I still feel a bit out of it now, but nowhere near as badly. She said it's unlikely that I will get my license back at the end of this month and that the doctor will probably want me to behave for another six months to prove I'm not impulsive. Fuck that, if I don't get it back soon, I'm going to make their lives hell. Or as hellish as I can manage without ending up with a prison term. I realised, when Judy said that, one of the main reasons I'm making an effort is because I've been so desperate to get my license back. If I'm not going to get it back, then really, there's no point putting in any effort. So that's my opinion on that.

Came home, drank like a litre of juice. Very, very thirsty, and have been all day. At least I can now drink without feeling too nauseous, lmao. And I haven't eaten very much today, but I'll remedy that once I feel like I can concentrate on what I'm cooking. Either that or I'll have a microwave dinner.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a record of the first time that Jess Grey managed to get drunk. As it were, completely and utterly wasted. Felt pretty off today but . . . worth it.
Didn't wake up in a hospital, or a police station, so it must have gone alright.


Welcome to my world.