This morning I woke up after a drunken night of dancing and general fun and found weird animal-like scratches all over my arms… I have no idea how they got there and I can’t imagine why they are there as I didn’t do anything that would give me these scratches…
What moments in your life have you had something happen to you that you just can’t, for the life of you, explain? Like that time you woke up in a gutter covered in a weird slime-like substance…or that time you were out driving and a strange bright light appeared in the sky…
I was at a party one night and dimly recall heading home, pulling into my driveway around 4 am and going inside. I awoke in the morning, in my suit, on the living room floor, with my bed pillow and very dirty. By dirty I mean filthy and sandy. It took me a few days to dully recall falling out of my car in the dirt driveway and having a little trouble getting back up. My room mate of the time later reported my falling through the front door and greeting him from the floor, then wobbling to my feet, going into my bedroom, emerging with a pillow and declaring that I was tired and was going to crash and doing just that on the floor.
I don’t know if this qualifies, but one day when I was about 9 years old, I came home from school and my mom took one look at me and said “WHAT is all that BLOOD running down your pants leg?!?” I took em off and I had an inch-long gash right in the center of my kneecap. I was not really a rough-and-tumble sort of kid, I have absolutely no idea how I got the gash, and I am even more mystified at how I could have gotten cut and not felt any pain, or how I failed to notice all the blood.
One night drinking beer at a party with friends, they convinced me to drink a triple shot of tequila. Tequila is spooky. Bad stuff always happens when I drink it. After the party died down, a lot of us went to the loudest, wildest bar in town.
Things were starting to get fuzzy but I remember drinking several more beers. Then the next thing I remember was that my face hurt, my hands hurt, my knees hurt and I was cold. I discovered I was laying face down on the tar covered roof of the bar, and must have been there for at least an hour judging from the stiffness in my joints.
How the hell did I get there? (And why didn’t my friends find me?)
I’ve never found a stairway or a ladder in the building that leads to the roof. Inside or outside. The upstairs bar has a few of those bubble-type skylights that the bartenders will prop open to get some air, but they are pretty damn high. And I would have had to perform a death-defying leap from standing on the rail of a balcony to reach the edge of one.
Really, I fear that I might have been causing trouble in the bar, or worse yet, was the victim of some trouble being caused and the bouncers put me up there somehow for my own safekeeping. Maybe I just needed a nap, and my drunken self somehow decided the roof would be a nice quiet place to snooze. But still, how did I get up there? I must have scaled the exterior wall.
I don’t remember how I got down either, but I staggered next door to the 7-11 and called a cab to take me home.
One morning years ago I woke up and found about twenty solid lines drawn in blue pen on one of my legs, from my knee down to my ankle. I thought maybe I’d somehow done it in my sleep and looked for a pen in and around the bed but found nothing. Alcohol was not involved.