and my, what a night it was.

1.19am, 22nd of June, 2012.
Listening to: The Wanted - Glad You Came.

And My, What A Night It Was.
God only knows where we went last night.
And the Devil only knows what we did when we got there.

Like a dream had in a deep, hypnotic sleep, I see only pieces of my memory.
Drinks, lights, shouts and skin.
Just glimpses are all that return.

I rack my mind to think of who might’ve been there..
Who were the witnesses?
The victims..
And the marauders?

Which of us should be feeling guilty?
Which should feel proud?
Which should feel ashamed and which should feel overjoyed?

With half-lidded eyes, I look around the room, scrambling to remember something – anything. The state of the room tells its own story.

Ripped clothes strewn, empty bottles scattered, numerous unmentionables in places they certainly should not be.
Bodies sleeping in the strangest of spaces, in the awkwardest of positions. People wrapped in the arms of the most unlikely bedfellows.

Frightening to think that this was only the last place we ended up at.

I wonder what evidence exists of the antics of last night.
Other than these arcane morning bruises, of course.

Where else have we left our mark?
How many people have we pissed off?
How many actually remember?

With all these questions swirling around my still-drowsy head, my confusion is interrupted by an almost beastly roar.

Yet, while it is not a savage animal letting out a predatory snarl, that snore of a heavily passed out young man could scare off any creature.

Sinking back down, getting ready to doze off again, a knowing smile makes its way to my lips.
Not of arrogance, but just that feeling of content. A smile full of that satisfying feeling, knowing that everything was worth it.

Now, I don’t remember exactly when it began, or what happened after it ended.
But all I can say is that it was a night we probably should’ve regretted.
Should’ve, but where’s the fun in that?

It was a night that might come back one day to haunt us.
To rub it all in our face, laughing at our idiocy, while we blush a deep scarlet of embarrassment.

But for now, it just remains as the night we had absolutely no recollection of.

A night of blasphemy, anarchy and utter debauchery.

And my,
What a night it was.

imagecredit: http://xsoullessblonde.tumblr.com/

Behind the Story

It’s nothing new. In fact, it’s pretty much every weekend. Perhaps even every Wednesday morning, for some. I for one, love it. Maybe it’s because I don’t get the conventional headaches, upturned stomach and bloodshot eyes, but I think it’s great. Sure, I’m tired and groggy, but it’s all a sign that I thoroughly enjoyed myself the night before. It’s all worth it, to free myself from the dregs of my mundane everyday routine.

"Turn the lights out now,
Now I'll take you by the hand,
Hand you another drink,
Drink it if you can.
Can you spend a little time?
Time is slipping away,
Away from us so stay,
Stay with me I can make,
Make you glad you came.

The sun goes down,
The stars come out,
And all that counts,
Is here and now.
My universe will never be the same
I'm glad you came."

The blackouts may be terrifying at first, but piecing together the clues is part of the fun. If it’s the mysteries of others that attract us, then what could be better than to have our own mysteries to ourselves? The evening spent getting up to no good is just the beginning, because it’s the next few days spent discussing, fretting, apologizing, laughing with those who were there that make it worthwhile. To have these unique stories to tell, whether it’s to those who missed out, or to the generations after us, is something money can’t buy. The nights may blend together, and we could end up with our face in our palms, hiding from the shame, but that’s exactly why, the morning after, I’m always the first to ask, “When’s the next one?”