As I am in the midst of a massive post about our Aspie journey (and struggling to face those demons yet again), I have decided to take a leap of faith and participate in Memoir Mondays, brainchild of the off-centre Travis @ I Like To Fish... For a little light entertainment.
It is Tuesday here in the land of Oz, but hey, thems the breaks in the blogosphere what with time differences and all that crap.
Now, settle back and let me tell you a story, a true tale from my mispent youth. I call it the butterfy saga...
Once upon an eon ago I was a consultant, a troubleshooter. Go in, fix up the issue, walk away (sometimes run) before the politics grabbed you and sucked you into the accounting abyss. As diplomacy was not my forte' it suited me down to a T (T - get it? T for, well you know... my real name).
Now, on this particular day I walked into a company for a one month contract only to find they were not prepared. Boss approaches, apologises for disorganisation, spills that the whole office is moving to another building and staff will have the next two days off. Okay, so you've contracted me, are not ready, and telling me that you will pay me to go relax for next two days? SWEET! Oh, but the best is yet to come. To celebrate the move there are drinks at a well known pub in the Sydney CBD paid for by the company! Even SWEETER!
So mid-afternoon, off we all toddle off to said pub. Being the social creature I am there are no qualms about getting to know these new people. The drinks flow, the chatter swells, afternoon turns to evening. People start to disperse, running off home to families, prior commitments, life. Finally it is myself and one of the PA's (mind you, she has now been a close friend for nearly twenty years) and the company tab. To say we made use of it is an understatement. It all goes blank around ten pm.
I awaken in the spare bed of my own house. Lying face down my head is splitting and I am afraid to stir in case I throw up. My engorged bladder screams in protest, and I realise I have to move or else totally embarrass myself by peeing the bed.
Now, let me paint a visual picture for you. I am naked, spread-eagled on my stomach, covers pulled up to my head. It is only when I finally attempt to rise that I realise I can't. I can push my face off the pillow but as I try to get up there is an immoveable force stopping me. I try again, but the more I exert upwards, the greater the pressure is to lie back down.
By now I am getting scared. I search my memory for any incidents or physical injuries but it is all a blank. I do not even remember leaving the pub nor getting home. I envision serious spinal injury, I am paralysed and even more concerning is the total lack of pain when I try to move. I start to hyperventilate as I wonder how long it will take for people realise I am missing... until help comes. It could be a very long wait.
It is in this panic-ridden state that awareness stirs - it is not the cotton freshness of a sheet which meets my body, it is a satiny soft, padded material. Realisation dawns - it is the mattress, not bed-linen underneath me.
Have you worked it out yet? No, well think of the butterfly pinned to the display board.
Yeah, somehow in my innebriated state I not only managed to crawl into bed, I also miraculously climbed under the covers, under the sheets and then under the mattress protector without disturbing the corner ties!
Pinned... like a bug on a board.
And very grateful I live alone without witnesses to my humiliation.
Of course I swore I would never drink to that degree again.
But I did the following Friday night.
