Drinking from four in the afternoon until two in the morning is a work day. That is ten hours. Catch that. T-E-N. That’s more work and effort than most people care to admit they put into their job or hobbies. Drinking for t-e-n hours is like drinking for t-e-n people. And things suddenly stop being fun and they get super fucking serious. And you stop being a total hit and the life of the party and you turn into a monster. And the people you think you’re hitting on–you’re eating them up with your non committal to life and your dedication to nothing but falling apart because you cannot stop drinking until the sun turns into milk and the first fifty times you tell them that it is fucking great, then they realize that is your best material but you don’t–so they desperately try to get away. This starts around hour f-i-v-e, but by then you’re so far gone that you’ve lost your ability to decipher people’s reactions. You find yourself becoming hyper-emotional over just about anything and doing things that most people consider stalking because the social filter that distinguishes between good, awesome & jailtime died way back at hour f-o-u-r. And as you become increasingly difficult to handle the people around you just about give up hope and are praying your body will collapse so, at the very least they can drag you to the car to pass out in. Because then, you will stop behaving like a primate and join the twenty-first century. Emotionally though, you can’t, but you find ways to take advantage of that twenty-first century technology, and you start doing it around hour t-w-o when you first start calling people and babbling about your failed relationships with them or ones they love. So by hour t-e-n you’re doing things like screaming wildly as you throw your body into the street and roll around like a dog. No one wants to give you a treat though. At hour t-e-n people leave you doing that and you find yourself waiting in your car to pass out or die and you also realize that you are spoiled and conceited because you’re throwing a fit because at hour s-i-x you it dawned on you that you sort of fucked yourself over with the guy you should be seeing but he doesn’t want to deal with your shit because he is literally more insane than you and he only drinks to even himself out. You drink to throw yourself out of wack to the max because then, at least, you feel mildly interesting. This is achieved with steady drinking way back at hour o-n-e, but you don’t want to admit it. So there you are waking up in the backseat of your car without your pants and you don’t even care to investigate why they’re gone because you’re only into the first minute of your hangover, which really means it could be hour o-n-e of drinking for the next day in a r-o-w.