the broken song. (3/6/12)

imagine this.

me, waking up at 9am in my clothes. sitting up with my head pounding & the room spinning. i piece together being put to bed after 6am, a friend draping a duvet over me as i mumble a goodnightmorning. (i remember 2am, in a downpour, jumping in puddles in bunny ears with N. wearing white shoes that turned grey. two soggyfooted fellows jumping in the back of a taxi. then i remember standing out in the garden with no shoes on, just socks, leaving a 4am voicemail that i have no idea what i said, finishing the whiskey and starting on the peach schnapps we found in the back of the booze cupboard leftover from some party long ago & wondering who it is who brings the peach schnapps and never drinks it.)

i go through to the kitchen, blearily make a cup of tea, extra sweet, extra milky. i put it down by the sofa & pick up the ukulele i’ve been carrying around with me on my travels for the last week. i begin to strum & this tune falls out instantaneously. i can’t even begin to strum evenly but i record it for posterity. playing it back, i’m already laughing at how sorry i am, how sorry i sound, immersed in hungover self-pity, brokenness, with a threehoursleeped body, cranky from being curled up on a sofa, still wearing the socks from the night before.

then i reach down for my cup of tea, all ready, all poised for it to pull me back into reality. nothing like a cup of tea, extra sweet, extra milky. one big mouthful & i realise i added salt instead of sugar. i spit it out. my heart sinks as i put the mug down. i stare out the window. it’s still raining. i really want to go back outside in my socks right then & there, but i don’t. the cat comes wondering in and jumps on my lap. i wonder how long it will be before i feel better. 

(p.s. you’re allowed to laugh at this/me.)