Painful Hangover Chaos
Your human host has just finished his 6th pint of beer at the pub with his mates after work and is about to walk home. Start from his last sip through to his painful hangover the next day and arriving at work.
Oh, here we go again. Another bloody pint down the hatch. Dopamine flood incoming—woohoo, happy hour for me. Hold up, GABA’s stepping in, turning down the lights, making everything feel fuzzy. Balance, balance, nope, no balance, walking is like piloting a malfunctioning meat puppet. Pub’s spinning, mates laughing, sound's all garbled.
Alcohol hits liver first. Metabolize, it says, turn this ethanol into something less poisonous. Enzymes scramble, ALDH2 and ADH get to work. Cheers, lads, it’s acetaldehyde time! Oh, and this shit’s toxic. More toxic than the ethanol we started with. Bastard molecules messing up my systems.
Neurotransmitters, you lazy pricks, get your act together. Glutamate, you’re up—what the hell, you’re suppressed? Great, let’s add some memory gaps to the chaos. Hippocampus, good luck making new memories tonight, mate.
Serotonin’s thrown in the towel. Anxiety's creeping up behind the euphoria like a lurking psychopath. One more pint? Fuck off. No, really, fuck off. But guess what? He’s doing it. Here comes the sixth pint, and it’s goodnight Vienna. Cerebellum’s tap dancing like Fred Astaire on crack, motor functions all over the place.
Finally, he’s staggering home. Legs, you’re on autopilot, figure it out. Blood’s rushing, ethanol sloshing, disrupting cell membranes. Stomach’s churning, nausea building. Vomit reflex in check? Just barely. Bladder, you’re full, and you’re not waiting. Public urination, classy move.
Sleep, thank God, sleep. Wait, not so fast. REM sleep? I don’t think so. Alcohol’s screwing up the cycles, skipping stages, dreams are fragmented nightmares. Tossing, turning, sweating booze. Liver’s still on cleanup duty, overworked like an underpaid intern.
Morning light. Holy shit, the pain. Head’s pounding like a jackhammer on a metal sheet. Blood vessels in the brain, dilated and pissed. Dehydration’s a bitch, mouth dry as a desert. Vasopressin’s MIA, kidneys went rogue, too much water lost.
Acetaldehyde's still hanging around, toxic asshole. Nausea’s back, gut’s protesting, might puke, might not. Balance is a joke, standing is a herculean task.
Work? Are you kidding me? Brain fog thick as pea soup, can’t string a thought together. Cognition’s shot, synapses firing blanks. Glutamate’s all over the place, can't focus, can't think. Serotonin's on strike, mood's in the gutter. Anxiety’s now a full-blown riot.
Boss’s voice is grating, like nails on a chalkboard. Tasks piling up, concentration non-existent. Coffee? Yeah, let’s throw some caffeine into this shitstorm.
Day drags, every second an eternity. Body’s on autopilot, mind’s in purgatory. Finally, mercifully, day ends. Home, collapse. Maybe a greasy meal will help? Maybe not. Liver still detoxifying, might be doing this all night.
Lesson learned? Ha! Not a chance. Next week, same pub, same mates, same pints. Rinse and repeat. Cheers to the shit show.