A strange sense of relieved achievement washed over me as I poured myself a glass of red wine, knowing my laborious day had come to a good end. I switched on the television, deciding to watch a movie, as I snuggled into the bed with my wine. I still kept my laptop open on the nightstand in case I remembered the missing details.
Sipping and refilling my glass happily watching Avatar showing chronicles of alien life on the television, I snoozed on and off, typing down my ideas every now and then, feeling good. My exhaustion caused the wine to have double its effect on me and it was pleasing. There were bees buzzing in my head. Relaxed and thankful for a good evening, I finally dozed off sitting, caring not for the television that was still on. Tomorrow would be a new day; I was grateful I’d be able to attend the convention without any worries or hurries.
I woke up to alarms blaring in my ear. Stunned and utterly hungover, I dragged myself to the edge of the bed and swung my feet over. The place where they hit the rug was…damp. A wave of dread descended on my being, trying to deny any drunk idiocy out of existence. My eyes slowly moved with trepidation to the spot where my feet rested on the rug; I saw the wine bottle toppled over on it by the nightstand. As my heart raced in denial, my eyes travelled up to the nightstand where I’d kept my laptop…
…and there was wine all over the keyboard.
Sweating and breathing short now, it seemed to me that time stopped in that moment, and I was sucked into an endless loop of regret.
My stomach gurgled again.
I sat on my chair at the convention with the mental state of a panicked dinosaur running from an angry cat. My laptop was shot, and it took with it not only my breakthrough in the writing scene, but also the presentation I was supposed to deliver here today. My purling stomach reminded me that the laptop wasn’t my only problem. My hungover head reminded me that my stomach wasn’t the only problem. My mind reminded me it probably wasn’t a good idea pairing wine with diarrhea.
I popped an Alka-Seltzer in my water-bottle and gulped it down, fidgeting with my phone, trying to create a makeshift presentation – it would just have to do. I swear to Shakespeare my neighbors were judging me.
I prayed to the cosmos to let me get through the presentation.
Returning to the hotel, I crashed in my bed, utterly exhausted. The presentation had been alright, but it had failed to lift my spirits. I decided I’d give up for the time being. Just rest some. There were still 6 hours yet for my flight, so I decided to take a nap before packing. Packing could wait. So could my idea. Everything could wait. I decided to recover from the last 24 hours prior to diving headlong into another mammoth task.
I returned home last night. It was a majorly crazy trip and I have to admit, I almost lost it. As soon as I set foot in my house I went straight for the bed and dropped dead like a sack of potatoes. I slept the most relieved sleep of my life and woke up with the sun.
I realized something as I saw the sun rising; what if I just gave it a little time? What if I slowed down and let my mind get its gears in place? Would I fare any better? Deciding to give it a shot, I made myself a steaming cup of chamomile tea and a warm bubble bath. I let myself get soaked in the indulgence and unwind. I then prepared a healthy salad for breakfast and ate quietly looking at the birds outside my window. You know what? It worked. It all started to come back to me. Instead of letting panic take over, I controlled my urge to hurry and went through deliberate motions of setting up my writing desk before starting to jot it down.
Here I am now, smiling with the sun shining brightly on my pearly whites, looking happily at my journal that now contains important material for my next bestseller.
It is as they say: haste makes waste!