This is not an erotic blog post, by 'in bed' I'm referring to that time in the morning when you are lying in bed, thinking about getting up. Particularly on a Sunday when this period lasts longer than on weekdays. It received many views on Soberistas so I thought you might like it here.
Slowly come to and lie very still until I work out it is Sunday.
Assess myself for degree of hangover. This is based on how much I drank last night, whether my head is pounding, how thirsty I am, how desperate the need for carbs is and whether I am feeling sick or that the room is spinning.
Next I would move my head tentatively, perhaps to look at the clock or to see if I had any water at the bedside and observe whether my brain moved with my skull or if it lagged a second or two behind, only to slam into it again when my skull stopped moving. Again reassess for nausea and room spin.
Then I would consider what I had planned for the day and if there was anything planned that I would no longer be fit for and decide whether I could cancel it or not. (Afternoon with friends, probably not. Taking kids to the swimming pool, probably cancelled.)
My thoughts would wander back to previous night to assess for damage. Had I picked an argument? Had I had loads more to drink than OH and risked disapproval? Had I emptied the kitchen of snacks? Had I texted any friends with 'great ideas' or bought anything on line on the spur of the moment?
Eventually I would sit up slowly and wait to see what happened. This was a defining moment in my ability to function or not. I would be torn between knowing how much better I would feel if I went for a shower straight away, yet would want to crawl downstairs for breakfast. The latter ran the risk of interacting with noisy children and fulfilling their demands and had to be balanced carefully. Eventually I would go gingerly downstairs , crossing my fingers they were not going to fight with each other or have the television on too loudly and also that there was not too much in the way of clearing up wine glasses from the night before: I don't think I could bear the smell.
Now: I lie in bed, pleased to have woken up reasonably early to make the most of a day off work. (Always so much easier to get up on Sundays than on Mondays!). Listen for children playing downstairs, hearing the sounds of them breakfasting themselves (always a bit messy but well worth a little clearing up).
Mentally I visit my lists. I love lists. Going through my To do, To buy, To do (medium term), and To do (work) lists I plan what I want and need to get done today: what I'll cook for dinner, whether I'll use up the over ripe bananas by making muffins too. And what else I will do if I have time: nip to the shops or take the pile in the garage to the dump, maybe wash car? (or persuade OH to do this).
After a quick shower I gather a load of washing from the basket and amble downstairs. I put on a wash and have a cup of tea while I decide what to have for breakfast.
Today, after 50 weekends of sobriety, I am above all thankful to be feeling well and not be hungover.