So, at the very solid yet compassionate advice of one of the few people in the world who can talk sense into me when I'm suggesting stupid stuff (like overnight gigs in London the week before I potentially fly off to the UAE for 6 weeks) I resolved to take it easy for a bit. Which I'm now doing until I leave.
This didn't end up happening initially however. I wasn't really in the mood for seeing people that night despite the very comforting phonecall but I sent a few text messages to see what was happening and went out to a house party. My leg started hurting so I tried to leave only to discover that some fucktard had taken my coat with the keys to my Housemate's car, and my phone, in the pocket. My bag and keys were in the car.
Cue trying to find my phone on Google Latitude via a laptop, waiting for all of the increasingly-drunken people to leave so I could look for the coat properly and still not finding it. My housemate was away so I had to wake a friend around the corner up at 4.30am, get keys to into my house, get into my van, go back and put a lock on the wheel of the car until I could find out from my housemate where the spare key was (in case someone decided to help themselves to the car - as has been known) and THEN get to bed. I'd tried to leave the party at about midnight and got to bed about 5.30 in the end. my leg HURT.
The next day was not good. I couldn't even walk. If my leg was elevated it was fine but the process of standing up and walking up the stairs to go to the loo resulted in the kind of pain that gives involuntary screams. None of this malarkey where you know you'd probably be a bit quieter if there was someone in the house but top-of-the-voice yells. We have new neighbours. We haven't met them properly yet. That'll be fun. My housemate arrived home the next afternoon and my leg looked like this
It was remarked on by a knowledgable friend on Facebook that it could be fractured so I and my ever-forgiving-and-caring housemate went off to A&E on the Sunday to get it xrayed, fortunately it's just bruised and is now healing nicely. Woo. That was over a week ago and therein began the other thing this blog is about. Chemicals. The ones that make you sit down and make things not hurt - not the ones that make you dance around like a sweaty moron and think that everyone in the room is wearing glasses.
As a performer, it's easy to spot the patterns that can so easily develop with relation to booze and drugs. Or, even, the concept of escapism and celebration. It would be VERY easy to become habitually dependent quickly. Have a good show? Time for a celebratory drink. Have a shit one? Time for a consolatory drink. No boss to tell you off in the morning, fuck it, if you really can't be arsed, just don't go to work. I'm definitely not judging.
I drink a bit daily. I'll have a couple of beers or, usually, a couple of glasses of wine. I don't actually think that's particularly unusual but I also think I probably drink a little too much. Sometimes, if neither of us are working the next day, it'll be a 2-bottle-of-wine night in my house. Again, not the end of the world and in fairness to my housemate, I do drink about a third quicker than her. I have therefore, been looking forward to giving my liver a rest and jetting off to the United Arab Emirates where the attitude to alcohol is something slightly different. Bonus detox. I managed a week at Eden but that was only because I was so fucking hungover driving down there from a night out in Bristol that even the thought of stopping off to buy a 2-week supply of booze filled me with nausea. Of course, by the time the final-show party arrived I'd have punched an old lady in the face if it meant I could steal her Gin and Tonic. Fortunately, there was plenty of Rum. It wasn't easy. Unexpectedly such. And that's when you have to have a serious think about your relationship with whatever chemical it happens to be.
Overall, I'm definitely a fan of stuff that makes me sit down and just.....stop. Which I find difficult. Booze does it very well - my brain can rest and also, as I've recently discovered, subsequently sleep. Getting to sleep stone-cold sober the past few nights has been a pain in the arse. I'm not a smoker so getting stoned isn't really on the agenda for chilling out if I want to be able to breathe the next day. But by now I know well and good what will not only stop stuff hurting (and it did fucking hurt, believe me) but will bring a nice fuzzy cloud over the rest of my evening.
The Hospital gave me (after some persuasion) a couple of really strong coedine tablets and by the time I got home I was feeling considerably better about the whole thing. Now, over-the-counter coedine isn't that strong. It's mixed with high doses of paracetamol because it's addictive. The problem with this is, in fact, it's got so much paracetamol in it that to get anywhere near enough to take the edge off the pain I was in would involve me taking so much paracetamol that I would probably start foaming at the mouth. So I just didn't bother. What I did have though, were some Ibuprofen (for the anti-inflammatory purpose) and some Benzodiazapams.
I had a week on the sofa ahead of me - what was I supposed to do? I'm not going to lie, I took a few Vallium. For the pain, Right?
Good. Long as we understand each other. More in Part 3 tomorrow....
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