I'm a relatively controlled person. Okay, I may have latent control freak issues that I'm working on. Generally, if I decide to cut loose, I've made a conscious decision to do so. I don't like being out of control of my actions which I why I'm rarely "chemically altered." In spite of my deep and abiding love of South American red wines, I generally only drink two glasses. Unless I'm at home and stressed or out having fun with someone that I really, really trust.
When the migraine hit Wednesday night, the painkillers were not kicking in. For some bright reason, I thought a sip or two of red wine would help dull the pain. I remember drinking the third glass of wine and deciding to order up whatever the latest vampire Twilight movie was on the DirecTV cinema on demand (a clear sign I was out of my head). That was around 1:00am.
I awoke at seven-ish because the BlackBerry was beeping. I pried my eyes open to find the empty wine bottle on the nightstand. And no clear recollection of how it got that way. I sat up relieved to find that the pain was low-key. Just a dull ache near the base of my neck. Completely bearable.
I washed up, grabbed a bottle of water and reached for the BlackBerry. Six messages in, I froze. An email from an ex with no subject line. I opened it up and it read, "Are you okay?" Scrolling down I realized that he was replying to an email I sent him in the middle of the night. The migraine started creeping back in.
Ruh. Roh. At some point in my medicated migraine hell/haze I typed out a lengthy email to him and hit send. The first line of my email read, "This email is not a good idea." The last line read, "Not going to send this, just going to sleep." And yet for some illogical reason, I typed it and hit SEND any damn way. Lawd! As I read through it I winced. It was rambling and way too transparent. What it really was? Nothing I would have written in my right mind.
Saving grace? I apparently wrote six drafts, each more graphic and "creative" than the last. In one or two iterations, I attempted to write rhyming poetry. I rhymed gloved with loved y'all. For the record, I am not a poet. Thankfully, the draft I sent him was not the worst of the bunch. But you can bet at some point, I'm going to have to face the music on the middle of the night communique. It is what it is.
Moral: Just as you shouldn't drink and drive... you shouldn't drink and dial (or text, or tweet, or email). Chemically altered people should not be allowed to operate any form of communication device.
So what would you do? Pretend that you were hacked? Shrug it off? Has anyone experience a "drink-n-dial"? Sent a tipsy text? Emailed under the influence? Been the recipient of the boozy tapback call? Do share. The floor is yours.