Morning

Ugghhhhhhhghhhghhgh. Everything spinny. Clock says 9:30. Don’t want to move but don’t want to lie here with the throbbing and spinning, and OH! I ache!
Grass clippings all over bed. In boxers. Makes no sense. Don’t remember anything past, well, shit wasn’t looking at clock, midnight maybe. Blur. Back and forth to keg. Ribs. Ate ribs. Puked em up not much later.
Damn! Streaks over. Made it almost through twenty fist year without, no twenty second year, damn.
Gotta piss. Head throbby and spinny and stomach feels like death.
Side hurts. Stumbling, fumbling, bumbling, mumbling and shouting and acting like an ass. Hope I didn’t do anything stupid.
Thighs hurt. Walk home? Don’t remember.
Down the hall, into bathroom.
Look like shit.
Off with boxers, into shower. Even hurts to shower. Throbby and spinny. Permanent brain damage maybe. Could’ve died. Never know. Fuck. Hungry but vomity.

Open fridge, close it.
Coffee?
Sleep?
Coffee!
Pot!
No pot, smoked it all. Damn.
Stuffed grape leaves. No effort, already made. Ugh, hit stomach like lemon juice. No effort, stuff a few more down. Coffee soon. Restore senses.
Grind beans, boil water, put filter on plastic thingy on mug, pour water. So much effort required. Ugh. Need coffee now. Need brain not hurt. Big fat joint. I wish.
Stuffed grape leaves, banana. Gulp from tap. Throbby and spinny. Coffee. So much effort. Ok, gonna do it.
Fill kettle. Check.
Put on burner. Check.
Grab beans from freezer. Check.
Beans in grinder. Check
Grind them. Loud. Brain calling out in desperation. Throbby and spinny. Check.
Ugh. Where’s plastic thing and my cup? Cup in sink. Plastic thing by waffle maker.
No filter. Filter’s by waffle maker. Put it in plastic thing. Press against sides. More pain in the ass than you’d think.
Beans in filter. Check.
Something real to eat?
Stuffed grape leaves.
Ugh. Ache. Pukey. Throbby and spinny. Waters boiling. Pour it on grounds. Restore senses soon. Feel like death. Could’ve died, stumbling in front of a car or choking on evacuating ribs or just. Doesn’t mean I won’t like that sometime. Whats wrong with me? Countless trips to keg. Could’ve stopped. Don’t need pukey, achey, spinny, throbby and feel like death.
Pour more water on grounds. Drip faster damnit.
It’s ten AM.
Still drunk.
The essence of dishevelitude
That a word?
Prob’ly not.
But alive at least.
And coffees almost done.
And that’s good.