Hangovers.

The hangovers he got from drinking could kill elephants. A 24 pack of beer has a tendency to shrink the brain, dilute the vitamins and disturb electrolytes. His body told him this. He knew when the hangovers were coming because he would keep drinking after the hiccups started. Each spasm would jar his insides and yank his throat from his neck. He held his breath and prayed for relief after each jolt. There was no calm insight. AHHH! Get a drink, gulp a beer. CLICK! It is morning. His head feels like he has literally cracked his skull over the left eye. His body is hot inside and the thirst is unbearable, but we must not move just yet. Shhhh. Sway your foot rhythmically on the edge of the bed and find the cool spot on the pillow. Stop. Don’t think about last night yet, or how we got to the bed. We will know soon enough. Ignore the nausea. Wait. Ok, go vomit. He runs from the hot bed to the cold bathroom. He falls to his knees in front of the throne. He can feel his throat tense as his stomach contracts with each heave. He can feel the slime of the toilet rug in his clenched fists; he can smell the urine on the toilet seat. He thinks of all the times he shot shit into the toilet that was now accepting his liver bile. Then the cool calm of the soothing moment after vomiting gently breezes over his body. He breaks into a relaxing cold sweat. For a few moments he feels relief and the cling of his sweat drenched t-shirt and boxers. SWISH… The sharp sting of the headache snaps back over his left eye. A flash of pain settles into his eye socket. He just wants to lie on the urine misted bathroom floor. We won’t do that though. Through the nausea and migraine sting he craves fruit, water, juice and vitamins. The thought of coffee strengthens the nausea. Coffee would be an instinctively horrible idea. He picks himself off of the floor and wobbles to the kitchen holding the wall with one hand and rubbing his left eye with the other. He swings open the refrigerator door and finds a cold cherry coke. The clink of condiment bottles jack hammer through the bone of his left temple. He watches his hand swipe the can of cold cherry coke and crack it open through one blurry eye. DAMN! He forgot to take out his contacts. The blur would last all day. GULP, GULP, GULP…DART back to the toilet. The wave of nausea is too much to will away. It is time to retch again. He settles down closely in front of the foul smelling bowl. The heaves hurt. His body doesn’t want to let go but his stomach and stinging eye socket say “Let Her RIP”! Five dry heaves slam through his throat each hurting more than the last. The soda fizz tickles his sinuses and all he can smell is cherry, all he can taste is bitter green liver bile. The amazing post nausea wave breezes by again. Quick, march to the kitchen, drink the rest of the coke and eat some mandarin oranges! He gulps the cherry coke and feels the fizz burn his tender throat. Through the blurry eye he watches his hands pull the pop-top off the can of Kroger brand mandarin oranges. He picks a slice of orange the way a toddler eats Cheerios off of a high chair tray. One by one he lets each sweet orange slice slide down his throat. Each piece soothes the tender tissue in his chest. The citric acid cleans his taste buds. For a few seconds he feels, ok, good, balanced. It is time to lie down again. The nausea will be back. We have to be ready. Sleep comes over him. He knows this because his feels floaty, light, peaceful. Maybe we can get Subway to eat when the nausea is gone for good.