Driving Rain

The rain started pounding onto the windows. Down and down driving in painful sheets that threatened to break through the plate glass of the house and spill onto the floor. Thunder boomed some miles away and lightning cracked closer than I would’ve liked. For some unknown reason the lights were miraculously still on and I could walk through the house without the aid of a candle or flashlight which I was keeping close at hand. He wasn’t home yet. I was getting worried. As the last lightning bolt cracked it struck me with realization that he wasn’t coming home. There would be no car winding its way up the drive shining it’s headlights on the house in a glorious triumph. No. This was it.

The next morning I woke to sun streaming through the blinds and a terrible ache in my neck. Pulling myself out of the sheets, I donned an old faded gray sweatshirt and stalked my way into the kitchen. As I was making the “Daily Pot of Coffee” as he liked to call it, I stopped a moment and decided to switch gears. Emptying out the pot of water, I went to the freezer and took out some of the frozen strawberries and other miscellaneous fruit I had saved for “a better time.” I figured this would be as good a time as any.

I threw all of the fruit, ice, yogurt, and a few shots too many of whiskey into the blender and fired it up. After making sure it was solidly demolished, it poured it into the biggest glass I could find and added a few more shots of whiskey. I stirred the cup up with a spoon and took a hearty swallow of my concoction.

It was sweet. With a hard bite of liquor that would surely do me in for the day. But what did I care? It didn’t matter if I was getting trashed at 10:00 in the morning or 10:00 at night. I needed it, and I needed it now. I finished off my smoothie (if you could call it that) in about an hour and was making another before too long. By the time 2:00 rolled around, I was rolling on the floor of my carpeted living room trying to find where I put “the stupid fucking remote” as I had called it so many times in the last what seemed like few days.

Sometime shortly after that I passed out and woke up on the couch with a blanket over me. I stood up too quickly and the blood rushed its way from my feet up to my noggin in the span of 3 short seconds. I was incapacitated on my ass and struggling to stand back up in a matter of seconds. “God that was a horrible idea,” I groaned as somehow I was able to get my feet beneath me and push myself to a semi-upright position. I honestly couldn't remember how much I had drank, or where the rest of it was. Soon enough, my stomach rolled and I had to rush to the bathroom to save the rest of my house from getting dirtied.

Reaching the kitchen I noticed that my mess had been cleaned up. And by mess I'm referring to the smattering of strawberries, raspberries, blackberries and everything else that was tossed into the blender at one time, should've been smeared across the dark marble of the counter top. The blender was clean and back on it's stand in the corner, and there wasn't even a sign of spilt whiskey anywhere. Which was odd because I knew for a fact that there should've been a sticky film across the hardwood floor, or at least on the cabinets. I was confused, and for being severly hungover, I was worried.