Move over, Bonzo, it’s bedtime for the zombie

I might have trouble sleeping tonight.

Except for the 20 minutes I wasn't, I was in bed the entire day. It wasn't until 5:30 p.m. that I rose from the dead. Correction: was able to sustain being up.

See, yesterday I made the greatest blunder in beer-imbibing, short of driving drunk. I drank on an empty stomach. In the span of half a day, I had four pints — a very manageable amount when there's food in my system.

But because there was zero, none, nada, it was tantamount to mainlining brews. Two of which were weak or watery, two of which were potent hoppy, malty microbrews from the beloved Deschutes brewery of Bend, Oregon.

And for whatever reason, hoppy micros are my downfall when drunk on an empty stomach and before retiring. More than any other beer, they produce a raging, full-frontal-lobe headache that manifests only hours later.

I had that along with the telltale signs of alcohol poisoning: nausea, an inability to make even the slightest motion without invoking action-arresting queasiness, the sipping of any liquid, i.e., water, that only intensifies the nausea and churns the toxins further.

The only position I could sustain with a modicum of comfort all day was flat on my back with my head on a high soba (uh, buckwheat) pillow locked in the straight-ahead position. (I'm no back sleeper; the stomach's where it's at.) Despite the position's unnaturalness, it worked so I went with it, partly because the slightest turn of the head — in direct line of the wrecking ball, did I mention? — aroused the same sensation of being on a carnival Tilt-a-Wheel. And the first and last time I was on that, many moons ago, I proceeded to disembark and promptly throw up into a trash can.

And the headache, did I mention the motherf***in' headache? … the piercing heaving sensation, one immune from aspirin, I must add, matched only by someone actually ramming a shovel into my gray brain matter and leaving it there. Nice imagery, huh?

Truth is, I couldn't not be in bed. And for those minutes I was up, some were for drive to the nearby post office to pick up a very special package; then later in the day, when it seemed I was ready to rejoin the human race, I was sifting through paperwork for 10 minutes before my body made it known that I was in no position to be … upright.

So to the sack I returned. Fortunately I had no plans I couldn't get out of and that's where I spent the entire Saturday until my body informed me that it had sufficiently detoxed such that I could rejoin the living.

It's now going on 10.30 p.m. and I'm well rested, wide awake, nourished by saltines and peanut butter and contemplating what to do as my day begins while others are looking toward retiring for the evening.

Figures. My mother oft-stated reminder you march to a different drummer comes back to haunt me. Speaking of hauntings, I may hafta get me some of that tonight, so sleep well (bwaaaahahaha) and be afraid, be very afraid?

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