England is an ideal country to experience a hangover. You can mope about, moan, feel sorry for yourself, eat trashy food, watch DVDs all day long and all without any sense of guilt that you're wasting a glorious day and all the opportunities for outdoor recreation and fulfillment that one offers, because - let's face it - the chances are it will be cold and/or raining outside.
Here, in Western Australia, life is not so simple. Every day the sun shines. Every day offers the chance to engage in all manner of physically rewarding activities and spiritually uplifting sensory experiences. It's a terrible place to have a hangover because you know that all you need to do is walk outside, feel the sunshine tingle on your skin, jump in the ocean and all the badness will be washed away and you will feel fresh and new and at one with yourself and with nature.
That's all well and good but what if you just want to lock yourself away in a darkened room, watch no brainer movies and feel sorry for yourself?
I'm lying on my bunk bed in my slightly musty, mannish-smelling backpacker hostel dorm room, my head dull and aching, my stomach twisting as the poison left over from last night's festivities bubbles through my system, and as well as mortally grogsick, I also feel trapped - psychologically boxed in, by myself - because I've come an awfully long way to experience all the glories of God's great and abundant creation and a sense of true freedom amidst them... and now I don't want to. I want to curl up on a sofa, eat a chicken dhansak and watch episodes of Lost.
I can't lock myself away. I can't watch DVDs. I can't even reasonably feel sorry for myself because I'm a lucky fucker and I know it. What am I supposed to do? Bite the bullet and jump in the ocean and feel better about myself? Oh, what an terrible prospect.
It's not fair.
No comments:
Post a Comment