Of Break Up’s and Hang Over’s

The head’s splitting. The stomach’s either twisted, or stretched. You wouldn’t know. You wouldn’t want to know what’s wrong. The tongue’s arid. It doesn’t want to talk. The eyes are blood red, it doesn’t want to unwrap. The early morning sunshine is no longer pleasant. It’s a transports you to a different hole. A space that is desolate. You become god, you declare yourself to be in hell for the many painful hours to follow. The legs hurt, almost everywhere. The knees are weak, the muscles have tightened up. There is seething anger, terrible despair. The question ponders? Why did I do that? Some call it an alcohol induced delayed reaction. Others call it, a hangover.

There is love. There is this unimaginable sense of togetherness. You feel her hands stroking your neck. A shiver goes up your spine. It’s not lustful, yet it’s border line tempting. You crave for more. You clench her hands, you stroke her hair. Her head rests on your shoulder. It’s not just support, it’s intimacy beyond ecstasy. You wouldn’t want it to end. You wish you could capture this image using the most powerful lens, and frame it on your favorite tangible wall. Yet, the clock ticks. The clock ticks to bring in compromises and arguments. Trust has taken a detour, Love goes hiding. There is intrusion of space, there is lack of privacy, and there are arguments beyond rationality. Love’s gone, distance is in. A fatal SMS, or a well rehearsed monologue. Let’s pull the plug! Some call it a failed relationship, some call it a breakup.

Suddenly, everything you loved in the past takes a holiday to Costa Rica and does not come back. All the remarkably romantic acts that you did, or rather performed, seem juvenile and sappy. You look back in bewilderment, and realize you were marvelously moronic. Social networking sites irritate you. She suddenly appears in every single wall post. She seems happy. She is socializing. You feel like an idiot on a donkey, depressed, angry and totally confused. You see her flashy smiles, and you confuse them for happy ones. At times she looks beautiful again, and you wonder why things went wrong. You berate yourself because she ‘likes’ your friend’s Google Buzz status. Rage engulfs you, how could she be so inconsiderate? Yet, you don’t accept that somewhere down the line, you too were wrong. You have officially become a victim of your own brain-thwarted expectations. You know begin to classify yourself. You feel like, and in the process, have become the ultimate Jackass. You go outside for a smoke. You see a bus with her name on it!

This is where alcohol comes in. Simple Logic, No rocket science. Man’s ultimate escape mechanism. Illusion sets as per proportions consumed. Euphoria follows. Dumb jokes are funnier now. Head feels light. There is an immense urge to let everything out. The opposite sex looks hotter. Testosterone levels seem to higher (at least at a psychological level). The music transports you to a new zone. Maybe, you are having a good time. Since common sense has gone for a siesta, you derive logic between consumption and contentment. the more you consume, the better it will get. Horrifying similar to your failed relationship. You get clingy, clingier and then it gets clumsy. Before you know it, the liver gets into action. Bile, whiskey, beer rum and pancreatic juices muddle up in all the convoluted tubes that keep us alive, and suddenly regret seeps in. The plug pulls up. The putrid cocktail comes out. The head spins for one final time, and then there is a fade out.

All the good times you just vanish without leaving a trail. The clock seems to be slow. Hours don’t pass easy. You are hungry, yet you can’t eat. You hate yourself for being so stupid.
You wish better sense had prevailed. You wish if you could remember the wild night. Present juggernauts the past. The past is a black hole, waiting to be forgotten.

To put it simply, both suck at a very towering level. More often than not, it’s a chain reaction. It’s bizarre, a fatal break up almost all the time leads to a near fatal hangover. History is sour, present sucks and future looks terrible bleak. A break up and a hangover are eternal twins, mystically connected. Let’s simplify, and call it, A Break Over!
Lime Juice and good music might give some relief. And of course, time. Time fixes everything, including the dry tongue.

P.S. I am not drunk. I am perennially single.