Drinking must not be done today. I am soooo hungover, the hangover of all hangovers. The final tally of beverages consumed doesn't help me feel better, although it does explain the pain.
8 kegs of Guinness and 1 keg of Harp shared between 7 people. Oh dear lord.
A friend of David's has come to drive us back to Limerick. Richard and I lay in the back of the hatchback, begging for relief in whatever form it comes.
Sleep would seem to be the best option, but it hurts to be unconscious. It hurts to be conscious. It hurts to move, breathe and groan. I'm going to be on a ferry tomorrow. Don't think about ships. Movement .... bad. The agony. The moving.... oh, stop moving. I did this. I did this to myself. I am never drinking again.
Safely delivered to Limerick, David asks me if I would like a pint. "Hair of the dog," he calls it. If a dog's hair will cure me, sign me up.
Tomorrow, I'll meet Rich and his mom for for a farewell brunch and then make my way back to London to catch the final flight of this journey. I've come full circle around the globe. The next plane I board is taking me home.
• ¤ •
"You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best, I've been gone for a week,
I've been drunk since I left.
And these so-called vacations will soon be my death.
I'm so sick from the drink, I need home for a rest.
Take me home"
I've been drunk since I left.
And these so-called vacations will soon be my death.
I'm so sick from the drink, I need home for a rest.
Take me home"
~Spirit of the West
