|>> || 1571695957564.jpg -(74981B / 73.22KB, 600x520) Thumbnail displayed, click image for full size. When you have one of those rare inspirational and productive nights of drinking and instead of wallowing in your misery and self-loathing, you actually feel euphoric and inspired enough to want to change your life for the better. And the more you drink, the more optimistic you get and suddenly life seems worth living and you're experiencing positive thoughts for the first time in months. So you start making a plan. A grand plan. A plan that will make you escape the cauldron of anguish and despondency that is your life. You can't believe how clear everything is. The gloomy, hopeless tunnel vision of your mind all of a sudden has widened into a broad, bright and hopeful vision of the future. You write down all these brilliant thoughts and ideas and you feel like a happy, meaningful life is within your reach, just as long as you follow this magnificent plan! |
Then you wake up. You feel like you always do after a night of heavy drinking, as if you're being held hostage in Satan's asshole. Every inch of your body aches and your mind feels like it has gone through an industrial strength blender. The only coherent thought to come out of this scrambled mess is a familiar one: do it, end it, put a stop to this pitiful existence and kill yourself. But then, a ray of light. The plan! The glorious, all-solving, miraculous plan! All at once, the pain of the hangover and every shameful, pathetic, regrettable, dire step that lead up to it diminish into nothingness, for nothing can withstand the power and resolve of this audacious and defiant plan to correct all the wrongs your life has had to bear. You crawl out of your sofabed in search of the Holy Plan. After a minute or two of ransacking the disgusting hovel you call home, you find nothing. Not a sheet of paper nor a handful of post-it notes nor anything else that you could have used to write down the grand blueprint of your prosperous destiny. Even though you're sure you physically wrote it all down, you still check your laptop and phone for any newly created text-files. Nothing.
The anxiety and dejection come flooding back, like a vengeful tsunami of torment and agony targeting just you. So you do what you always do and pick up the bottle that kept you company the night before, hoping you crashed out before you finished its contents. As you hold it up, praying to find just one precious drop at the bottom of it, you notice the label has been ripped off and is lying on the floor near your foot. You pick it up and notice there is writing on the back of it. This is it! You've discovered the sacred paper on which you wrote the lofty, life-changing plan you had envisioned for yourself. You hold it in your hand, so engulfed in enthusiasm and excitement that you momentarily ignore the fact that this tiny, flimsy sliver of paper is incapable of containing the magnanimous solution to your life that you think it does. Then, with a flamboyant and dramatically elaborate twirl of your wrist, you turn it around.