The unwanted visitor

It always arrives early in morning, typically on a Saturday or a Sunday but sometimes it even stops in on a weekday morning. It lingers, usually far too long, and generally has enough of a presence that my entire day is affected by it. Even if i close my eyes, it still stays around. Doesn't really get the sense that it is not wanted.

It's funny. It never used to come by so regularly. There was even a time in my life when I used to gloat that it never came around. I would wake up at the crack of dawn, smile on my face, annoyingly cheerful, and fresh. No unwanted visitors to wreak havoc on my life. Then..I got old.

I now can relate to why my housemates would miss their 2pm classes after a night out on the town. I used to think it was crazy that they would be couch ridden for the day, unable to move suddenly, or speak loudly.
My iron stomach has now become mush. I long for the days of yore.

It is not entirely my fault that things have changed, I haven't changed my indulging ways, but the proverbial hangover has definitely come on stronger in the past few years. I have now come to expect it. The moment I take a sip of a numbered dirty martini, I have accepted that my mind will no longer be mine the next morning, that my head will be playing a symphony of boisterous sounds and that my body will feel like it's rotting from the inside out, and then will hate me for heading straight to the golden arches in an attempt to cure the wretched feeling deep within the pit of my stomach.

Sometimes, I don't even make it out of the house. Sometimes, I lie like a fish out of water, flop around in agony trying to muster up the strength to be 'sweet' and 'cute' and send the man (who somehow still loves me) out, requesting a pit stop to pick up a cold gatorade and some advil. I used to be the one who would do the gatorade runs for others. I used to be the one who would pull back the hair of my friends (SWF) as they lay on the cold bathroom floor in a sarong, reaching for the sides of the bowl. I used to be the one who would make a big batch of soup to feed the bodies sprawled painfully on the couch downstairs. I used to attend every 8:30am class, and pay attention.

To this day, you won't find me hugging the porcelain bowl, but you WILL find me in sweatpants, oversized sweatshirts, makeup from the night before, and i will be peering at you through puffy bright red eyes. I remind myself of someone who would be profiled on Intervention, or something you might find at the side of the road, after having been hit by a truck. That sounds depressing, but the good news? It's only a phase.

I will NOT be accepting visits from this unwanted visitor past the age of maturity. Right now, it's hard to know when that particular age will arrive, but once this body decides to house a baby, you can be sure that i will change the locks on my door. I will wake up, open one eye, and then the other. The sun will not penetrate my brain and feel like it's burning my retina. I will open the blinds, spring out of bed and maybe even hum a soft tune, or sing along to easy listening on the radio. I will prepare a pot of coffee, and start my day vertically.

I will smile to myself, maybe chuckle a bit, and wonder who the unwanted visitor has decided to pay a  torturous visit to.