Hangover

I woke up this morning
With a raging headache
And a feeling like
I'd been hit by a truck.
My mouth was dry as a bone
And there was a sour taste
In there that wouldn't quit.
I peeled back the covers
And swung my feet over
The edge of the bed,
Struggling to stand.
My knees were weak
And my head was spinning,
But I knew I had to
Make my way to the bathroom.

I stumbled down the hallway,
My hands brushing
Against the walls
To steady myself.
The light hurt my eyes
And I had to squint
To see the sink in front of me.
I turned on the tap
And splashed some water
On my face,
Trying to wake myself up.
It didn't work.

I looked in the mirror
And saw a face
That looked like it had been
Through the wringer.
My eyes were bloodshot
And my stubble
Was more like a beard.
My hair was a mess
And my clothes were wrinkled
From a night of restless sleep.

Last night was a blur.
I remember drinking too much,
Flirting with some girl at the bar,
And stumbling home alone.
It was nothing new.
I'd been living like this
For years.

I walked back to my bedroom
And collapsed on the bed.
My head pounding,
My stomach churning,
And my joints aching.
This was my life.
A never-ending cycle
Of oblivion and regret.
But what else was there?
Work?
Family?
Responsibility?
Those were things for other people.

I closed my eyes
And tried to block out the world.
Maybe if I slept long enough,
Everything would go away.
But deep down,
I knew it wouldn't.
I was Joe Strickland.
And this was my life.