A dull, grey, light is thrown on to the floor of my bedroom. The violent red light of the clock proudly displays 12:23, and for several minutes I lay there, watching the little flashing colon, wishing my life were as regimented.
Whilst asleep someone has crawled into my head and is now scratching away the tissue with a spoon. This is perhaps the only time in my life I have suffered a hangover.
I pull on a royal blue "Smurfing record breaker" t-shirt, some grey and maroon jogger shorts, and a wristwatch; that I acquired from my father this weekend. Needless to say I can't read it. I shove my feet into my moccasin slippers and make the journey to the lecture hall.
The next hour is spent trawling face book in an attempt to find a reminder that may untangle the chain of events from the evening. I feel the gaze of the person behind, and to the right now reading with me. Immediately I begin to censor myself.
Eventually fragments of the torn fuzziness of last night start stitching themselves back together, and I find myself thinking that they should perhaps be relived, but never talked about at the same time.
Today at 12:52
__________ Face raped me, so if we had bet, I would now owe you 415 Danish kroner (Approx £50 rates as of 16/12/08). Also I feel like I didn’t see you for most of the night? My head is hurting, and I was sick in a drain, anorexic style.
Reply - Today and 14:01
My mouth is as dry as Gandhi's flip-flop, oh life. I have to get out of this bed