My head feels like a wayward bowling ball and my eyes roll backwards then
squint as I helplessly attempt to focus them on the corner
of the ceiling that holds residence to my pet spider.
My mouth is full of the well advertised ‘good-for-you-nutty-crunch-cereal'
without the milk, and I agitate my deceased tongue to form saliva to wash the taste.
My legs tremble ferociously as I send mental images to them, of me walking
(perhaps shuffling), to the cleanness of a buzzing toothbrush.
What happened last night?
My mobile rings.
Interlopers in the form of mates, eager to talk me through my lunacy
of early hours of the morning.
Did I really do that?
No!
It wasn't me,
I swear!
It was all the wine......