Stealing this cause I have to look at it while drunk.
Seriously. This is what the world does the morning after a particularly fun night.
I have been trying for ages now to come up with an image that describes that feel.
You know.
That feel you have when you wake up from a particularly hard night of partying, only to look up at your ceiling fan.
The room is spinning. But the fan is staying in place.
That feel… When you’re just along for the ride as the memories of debauchery and taste of booze, cheap food, and vomit come crashing back to you. Followed by a tidal wave of guilt, shame, and prayers that your friends won’t give you too much shit for whatever hilariously dumb shit was done to praise Bacchus. You promise yourself you will never drink that much again. Everrrrr... 
The shame and guilt subsides, and you’re left with mild ripples of relief, gratitude, and thankfulness that you made it home safe, your friends didn’t let you hurt yourself (and none of them got hurt either), and nothing life-alteringly stupid was done. 
This all takes place while you grope blindly around for something to make your head stop hurting, and are surprised that Drunk-You had the common decency to leave a glass of water on your bedside table.
Of course, you repeat this all again the next night, or the next week, or maybe just the next month.
.
.
.
Junior Year of College. I miss you. Come Back to me.

Stealing this cause I have to look at it while drunk.

Seriously. This is what the world does the morning after a particularly fun night.

I have been trying for ages now to come up with an image that describes that feel.

You know.

That feel you have when you wake up from a particularly hard night of partying, only to look up at your ceiling fan.

The room is spinning. But the fan is staying in place.

That feel… When you’re just along for the ride as the memories of debauchery and taste of booze, cheap food, and vomit come crashing back to you. Followed by a tidal wave of guilt, shame, and prayers that your friends won’t give you too much shit for whatever hilariously dumb shit was done to praise Bacchus. You promise yourself you will never drink that much again. Everrrrr..

The shame and guilt subsides, and you’re left with mild ripples of relief, gratitude, and thankfulness that you made it home safe, your friends didn’t let you hurt yourself (and none of them got hurt either), and nothing life-alteringly stupid was done.

This all takes place while you grope blindly around for something to make your head stop hurting, and are surprised that Drunk-You had the common decency to leave a glass of water on your bedside table.

Of course, you repeat this all again the next night, or the next week, or maybe just the next month.

.

.

.

Junior Year of College. I miss you. Come Back to me.

  1. alevelmeaner said: That exhilarated, scandalized feeling of an adventure you probably shouldn’t have gone on, and yet can’t completely regret.
  2. yell reblogged this from charcoalandcowpies and added:
    …I was just going to say this entire scenario seems incredible familiar to me… That was a very good year. I miss that...
  3. charcoalandcowpies posted this
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