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Reply to: This is a bit sad

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Previously on "This is a bit sad"

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  • NotAllThere
    replied
    When I was a teenager I had a blackout at a party, through drink. Apparently I was quite coherent and behaving relatively normally. I just have no recollection of what I did. One moment I was in the garden, then next, I was sitting on the sofa, having lost about 2 hours.

    It happened a few times after that I've had to piece together what happened the night before, but never an actual blackout since.

    I stopped drinking heavily quite a while ago and hope I never get into the habit again.

    Leave a comment:


  • SueEllen
    replied
    Originally posted by Gumbo Robot View Post
    I thought I'd read that quote somewhere else...
    You have a few times.

    The Mail is a bit late on this one.

    Leave a comment:


  • Gumbo Robot
    replied
    Originally posted by SueEllen View Post
    Oh she's still trying to pedal her book around. It was mentioned in some the other papers last year.

    Anyway the long and short of it is she is an alcoholic.
    I thought I'd read that quote somewhere else...

    Leave a comment:


  • SueEllen
    replied
    Oh she's still trying to pedal her book around. It was mentioned in some the other papers last year.

    Anyway the long and short of it is she is an alcoholic.

    Leave a comment:


  • Gumbo Robot
    replied
    When men are in a blackout, they do things to the world. When women are in a blackout, things are done to them.
    Personally, I find the whole concept of waking up and not remembering what you did the night before very disturbing.

    I'm sure quite a few of us have been there though.

    Leave a comment:


  • vetran
    started a topic This is a bit sad

    This is a bit sad

    Blackouts: A writer reflects on the drunken blackouts that stole huge chunks of her 20s and 30s | Daily Mail Online

    'How did I end up in a stranger’s bed?': A writer reflects on the drunken blackouts that stole huge chunks of her 20s and 30s

    I’m in Paris for work, which is exactly as great as it sounds. I eat dinner at a fancy restaurant and drink cognac — the booze of kings and rap stars.

    Somewhere near midnight, I tumble into a cab with my friend and the night starts to stutter and skip. How did we get back so fast?

    I walk through the front door of my hotel alone. I exchange a few pleasantries with the concierge, a bit of theatre to prove I’m not too drunk.

    The last thing I hear is my heels, steady as a metronome, echoing through the lobby. And then there is nothing.

    This happens to me sometimes; a curtain falling in the middle of the act, leaving minutes and sometimes hours in the dark. But anyone watching me wouldn’t notice.

    I don’t know how much time I lose in this darkness or what takes place. When the curtain lifts again, this is what I see: there is a bed.

    The lights are low. Sheets are wrapped around my ankles. I’m on top of a man I’ve never seen before, and we’re having sex.

    Can this be right? It’s as if the universe dropped me into someone else’s body. I wonder if I should be worried, but I’m not.

    I don’t mean to suggest I’m brave. I mean to suggest that you could break a piece of plywood over my head and I would smile, nod and keep going.

    The guy isn’t bad-looking.

    ‘You really know how to wear a guy out,’ he says.

    It seems unfair that he should know me and I don’t know him, but I’m unsure of the etiquette.

    ‘I should go,’ I tell him.

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