1) When your laptop breaks.
Me on the phone to my Mum
I recently had to go through this ordeal, and it wasn’t fun. After realising it wasn’t loading properly I took my now former laptop to the laptop repair clinic where they said words like ‘’Motherboard’’ and ‘’It’s dead’’ which to be quite frankly felt like I was getting punched with each word. The most natural thing for me to do was to go back to my room, close the curtains and cry into my pillow. However, I remained positive and fought back the tears ….well, until I made a distress call to my Mum who for the first five minutes of the conversation only received heavy breathing, huge sniffs and the occasional sob. The most frustrating thing was that I’d planned to stay in and work that night, but the loss of my beloved saw that plan go sailing out of the window. I did inevitably end up going out, after a conversation with my friend went like this:
Me: I need alcohol after the day I’ve had
Her: I’d say JCs but we’ll end up in stupid (Tuesday, a union night for you non Loughborough readers(
Me: ……Wanna go to Stupid?
Her: Alright then (this is the person who swore she wasn’t going out all week didn’t take much i.e any persuasion)
It was at that moment I realised how much I rely on my laptop, not just for practical things like checking emails and doing coursework, but the everyday things such as reading the Daily Mail’s showbiz page over breakfast and googling sex facts. Thankfully, I have replaced my laptop with a rather snazzy red one, but those twenty three hours without one really made me appreciate just how much I rely on them, which is a completely unhealthy amount.
2) The Hangover
This is how painful my shower was.
Hangovers are a natural part of being a part time alcoholic’s life. After a while, you get used to the headache, the queasy feeling and being unable to stomach food till midday. However, in at least one irresponsible drinker’s life, there is ONE hangover that transcends the rest in terms of memorability and pain. It’s not one of those pathetic hangovers where you lounge around in bed complaining loudly and then six hours later you’re shouting ‘’WOOOOOOO, LET’S GET BACK ON IIIIIIIITTTTTT!’’, but the ones which reduced you to nothingness. The ones which if someone walked in your room you’d be lying in your bed so motionless and limp that they’d think you’d literally been shot to death, and by that I mean vodka shotted to death. My friend calls these ‘’Special Hangovers’’
My special hangover was after one night where I played ring of fire with a bottle of lambrini, (I deserved everything I got, really) and then when I was out decided to befriend tequila for the first time, without realising that tequila is the friend that stabs you in the back, repeatedly. I still don’t know what happened that night, and to be quite honest, I think ignorance is bliss judging by a few people’s comments about seeing me ‘’Oh I saw you, it was BAD’’. All I know is that I woke up the next morning and I wished I’d died because I was in a place that was beyond a hangover. Stupidly, instead of accepting I was fit for nothing but the confines of my room with the curtains firmly drawn, and an maybe an AA meeting, I tried to get through my day as usual – big mistake.
When I was in the shower, I felt like I’d been transported to a Chinese water torture chamber: the pouring water felt tiny nuclear bombs going off on my skin, the sound of the shower was so loud and painful I felt like I was at a Cheryl Cole concert, and I resembled a snake as my eyes had turned to slits; the light actually hurt my eyes that much. After my shower I lay face down in my bed for a while because everytime I sat up I felt like I’d been strapped to a waltser and they make me cry. I eventually dragged myself outside; it was interesting to say the least. I’ve never before had to choose between being able to walk in a straight line or being able to stop myself throwing up in the middle of a street at eleven o clock in the morning. I can’t even say I was still drunk because I was in some terrible place beyond that – I’d rather give birth to ten babies in a row then experience a hangover like that again. So, yeah, drink responsibly!
3) Forgetting that test/deadline.
Realising she’s left her deadline too late, so looking into alternatives, such as becoming a stripper.
It always happens last thing at night, you’re the most toasty, warm and peaceful you’ve ever been since making the great escape from the womb. Then the icy moment comes over you, like when you find out Justin Beiber is releasing another single – you’ve forgotten about that REALLY important piece of coursework which you now have a few days to research, write and then hand in.
The next few seconds are usually a whirlwind of panic where you frantically turn your laptop on while praying you have enough energy drinks to get you through the next few days. ‘’Just how important is this work??’’ you ask yourself ‘’Can I really bullshit this? Or is this the end of my academic career?’’. Your thought processes goes from the frightening prospect of a fail to visions of you being thrown of your course, your parents disowning you and then kicking you out and then you becoming one of those mumbling homeless people in the street, or worse, A BIG ISSUE SELLER.
At this point you have two options: you can sit back and open a can of Strongbow and accept defeat or spend the next few days living as a caffeine addicted recluse, only interrupting work for a toilet break and a top up of Monster. If you take the second option you will come across a dilemma: you’ll hate how stressed you are and how you feel you may be having a heart attack due to the copious amounts of energy drinks you’ve consumed. On the other, you realise how much work you can do under pressure. There’s no writing a paragraph then having an hour long tea break, there’s no spending all day tidying your room because you CANNOT work unless every surface has been dettolled, and there’s no facebook statuses about how you should be working. The only thing that exists is you and your essay; if you were this focused all the time you could conquer the world.
4) Having your parents realise you’re not as angelic and fresh faced as they thought.
What my parents like to pretend I am.
Thanks to social media such as facebook and twitter, our parents kind find out where their beloved child is REALLY like – scary isn’t it? I’m hardly the spawn of satan, I’m not some bed hopping alcoholic who snorts cocaine of some naked man’s body, but I don’t think my parents would be too thrilled to know about some of the stories I’ve acquired from university i.e the hangover one and spending time with my friends making immature jokes about Ann Summers products. I mean when I told my Dad I’d got a piercing he said ‘’Oh God’’ and when I told him about my tattoo the phone went silent for so long I thought he’d hung up on me.
I found it awkward telling my parents I was going to Amsterdam, which is a beautiful city filled with culture but let’s be honest, when someone says Amsterdam you think of weed and naked women. After returning from Amsterdam which was THE BEST TRIP IN THE WORLD, I had my Dad ask me if I’d ‘’smoked any funny things’’ in which I hesitated for far too long, and my Mum ‘’liked’’ one of my photos from Amsterdam which alerted me to the fact I hadn’t made the album private from her at all – whoops. I don’t think my parents would have appreciated me telling them about the things that haven’t been broadcasted on facebook, like wandering around Amsterdam in the middle of the night, completely lost after a rather decadent time spent in the red light district coffee shops. Oh, and the sex show we saw which wasn’t even that great anyway, the woman looked like she was doing her grocery shopping list in her head whilst bending into all these fantastic positons – if you ever want to be a successful sex worker, try and at least look like you’re vaguely enjoying it.
Consequently, my parents have adopted the ‘’Hear No evil, See no evil’’ approach to me, they don’t ask, I don’t tell and everyone is happy – ignorance really is bliss. I have all sympathy for my parents though, it must be difficult seeing your youngest child being more than happy to be taken under alcohol’s wing, especially when you pick them up at the end of term and they’ve been hungover every single time.
5) Realising you’ve spent too much money
What I’ll find when I eventually clear out my wardrobe.
Some people religiously check their balance, I don’t which is probably why I’m not as rich as I could be. However, I’ve always managed to stay within the limits of my budget with only the occasional splurge; these splurges usually happen when I’m in a clothes shop and see something(s) that I really, really like.
Being a 21st century girl in the western world, it’s part of the capitalist and media centred culture that I live in that makes it forgivable for me to love clothes. However, I have a sickening amount of clothes, to the point where I can no longer shut my wardrobe, and THEN there’s the clothes in my suitcase on top of my wardrobe filled with clothes – it’s actually sickening. To be perfectly honest, my wardrobe could lead into Narnia and I wouldn’t have a clue because it’s that full, I haven’t seen the back of it in a while. I have tried selling clothes on Ebay, like my leopard print tutu with a pink underskirt (it’s not as vile as it sounds), but nobody bid on it so I assumed it was a sign from the Gods that I should keep it, or maybe it’s just a horrible skirt, who knows?
My point is, we all have those one weaknesses that gives our bank account a good spanking, and it’s always an awful moment when you look at your statement and you think ‘’I spent HOW much on clothes!?? I could clothe all of Africa with that amount!’’ usually after those moments I sit down and give myself a good talking to, and vow to sell some of my bulging wardrobe on ebay; I’m doing well, I managed to part with a pair of shoes and some shorts the other week. Hopefully, I shall soon be able to unearth the entrance into Narnia.