Dear liza...

There’s a whole hole in my brain. I’m sure of it, simply because information, data, instructions, to-do lists, fast facts, quick quips, punctuation, spelling, all fall through the giant, gaping hole in my brain.

I am unable to remember the basic of things. I walk into my wardrobe then out again meaning to tell LSH some salient point only to have it vanish, just as quickly as it appeared.

I am often left standing in the lounge, in my underwear, pointing to the sky, mouth agape, with my eyes twitching from left to right searching my brain for the story I meant to tell. The dog’s heads lifts from her paws as she anticipates my  no doubt great oratory (loyal little pumpkin that she is), but is instead left confused, re-resting her head on her cute feet, wondering why she bothered.

A couple of years ago, I was finishing a post graduate degree (I know, roll your eyes, I sound like a self promoting twat), while working insane hours. I discovered back then that pieces of information would fall out of my brain as I tried desperately to retain anything to do with the degree.

“It’s because I’ve got so much going on, two subjects at uni, lots of crazy work hours, while planning my wedding,” I thought, “It’s no surprise things fall off the radar. When I stop studying, things will be better.”

Only things aren't much better. Now, I have nothing to exercise my brain with and I’ve more time to drink. I’m sure I did serious damage to my brain over the Christmas break when I consumed almost three bottles of champagne to myself plus some further glasses of vodka in one sitting between 1pm and 11pm.  It was very messy. I woke at 3am feeling a strange heat bubbling under my skin, with the hairs on my arms standing up on end. I was feeling faint all while my stomach churned Malaysian curry, champagne and vodka from left to right, up and down and back around again.

An overwhelming urge made me shift to the lounge room floor so I could feel the wood beneath my back. I’m fairly sure I fainted. The indelicate thud of my body, crashing to the floor woke LSH. Sober as a sensible judge he asked, “Do you need anything my love?”
 “Nope, I’m fine, only I feel hot, weak and like I need to rip my skin off. Plus, I might throw up. But that aside, all good”
“You’re going to throw up here?” he asked.
“Yup,” I said.
“So, you’re going to throw up on the lounge room floor?”
“Yup”.
“Okay then,” he said in a way that suggested he’d had to put up with my ridiculous behaviour so many times before. He fetched me a pillow and went back to bed.
I lay on the cold floor trying to remember how Jim Morisson died ( lookey there, I remembered something)!

Previous to that drinking binge I’m sure some synapses were still firing, but that night made the left side of my brain completely separate from my right, voiding all synapses and creating a big black gaping hole in between.

Soon, I’ll be one of those poor people who drank too much in their formative years only to have their limbs stop responding to their brain neurons firing instructions to the extremities of their body. You’ll spot me walking through the mall, dragging my left leg behind me, inarticulate, unable to calculate % off discounts in my favourite stores unable to remember who anyone is. Here’s hoping I don’t lose bladder control too. Or I’d give new meaning to pissfit.

I’m still contemplating a glass of wine tonight though, I’ve had a tough week. Or at least I think I have, if only I could remember it…