Insane and rising in my own weird way

I felt as though I floated out of bed this morning, feet stuck, torso stiff, head followed by shoulders, hips, and legs, like some cliched horror star rising out of their coffin. Probably the first clue that last night was a bit too - well, too much of everything.

I expected to be low this morning. Filled with regret, coming down, angry, and nauseous. But I'm not.

Have you ever had a pleasant hangover? I've tried to describe these to people several times, and I'm always met with disbelief and shaking heads.

"How can a hangover be pleasant? The prerequisite of a hangover is feeling bad."

Maybe their choice of words is never quite right. Maybe mine aren't.

But no, really, sometimes I get this feeling. I'm always hot, always fizzing (not necessarily in the best way), and even if I don't want to move, I want to move. Honestly, my favourite hangover cure is music as loud as possible. Rap, rave, rock, whatever. If it gets me moving on a good day, it's all good.

So here I am this morning, hot and tapping my toes, but I know it's not just the result of last night's cocktail of whatever.

Today, I am free. I have been chased for so long by someone who never really wanted me, and I can't describe how exhausting that can be. Much more exhausting that only sleeping 4 hours a night for the last 3 months, I tell you that now. (My lack of sleep has been a running joke in our apartment, where I sleep later and rise earlier than everyone, and yet somehow seem brimming with energy. I guess this is what happens when everything you do energises you, everyone you love reinvigorates you, and all your late nights are spent with lovers, be they friends, passions pursued, or lovers in the literal sense).

All I wanted was clarity, and this morning, as I drink my green tea and eye up the squirrel on the deck, I finally have it. Even with brain fog, clarity is here.

"What do you want from me?" I'd asked last night as he placed his hands on my waist again.
He'd tried to shake the question off, but I persisted. Let's call a spade a spade, after all.
"What is this? Do you like me? Or do you just want sex?"

I don't think he's ever has someone be so straight with him before. It's strange, how being honest can make you sound childish. (Particularly when it's the dishonesty that's truly childish).

He doesn't want to answer, so I know I already have my answer.

"I don't know," he finally sighs, "It's hard to like anyone right now."

And that's that. With that, I can dust my hands off and stroll off into the distance.

This morning, I know I'm finally free from being someone's morning after regret.

I'm free from being someone's fall back crutch.

Someone's late night text.

Someone's cold night kiss.

"Am I crazy?" he once asked.

Of course. We all are. So am I.

I'm free from being someone's outlet for repressed sexuality.

Because let's face it. We're adults. Let's stop repressing things.

I flick the jug back on again as I head to the record player to chuck on Rumours.