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It Was The Vodka – A Redundancy Story

05 Mar

She knew she shouldn’t really give a fuck about it, not now, not after so long, but she did, and she was beyond exhausted with her restless brain thinking on and on and on… and on into the early hours denying her any rest. That’s why she drank. It wasn’t a social thing, it was a sanity recoverer, without it she’d end up a zombiefied husk of a human. Her cat liked the new sleeping pattern, or lack of. It meant when he scratched at the bedroom door at 5am she would throw food in his bowl instead of scream profanities in his direction and occasionally open the door brandishing a well heeled shoe. ‘Fuck’ she exclaimed to the wall. ‘Fuck fuck FUCK’ she screamed out the ajar window to a random early morning jogger. She considered that she might just have everything out of proportion as she twisted the lid off the half empty vodka bottle and drank deeply. It was 5.43am on a Tuesday. The headache once again thundered in with the thought of getting her blouse on for work again. It would be the ninth day in a row. She fell on the bed with a heavy thud, drops of vodka leaping out of the bottle and on onto her forehead. She sighed as the cat jumped onto the bed and started licking the running droplets out of her hair. She never stopped him, although after he drank neat vodka from a cup and staggered into the TV stand she was more vigilant with the amount he drank. Cats really shouldn’t drink neat spirits, but then she figured cats shouldn’t be called ‘Shandy’. At least she always had a drinking partner in the small hours. ‘Fuck’ she told him. ‘fuck this shit’ and quickly squeezed her eyes shut. Two minutes later she opened them to find everything a bit greyer. Even the sun couldn’t be fucked to get up to full mast this morning. She felt herself sinking into the mattress. Even the spring in the middle that always tried to force its way into her spine felt comfortable. And she sank further.

It was 1.32pm, she opened her eyes to see Shandy curled up around the now empty vodka bottle, and sixteen voicemail messages on her phone. She dialed and listened, last first, ‘…imcompant for the last time, your…’ She switched off the call, she knew it was over. She stroked Shandy for some form of comfort. He was cold and still.

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