A Spaceman

Chapter 2--All the unusual suspects

I wake up to the blasting of my alarm. Which I didn't set. I groan and fumble for it. where the hell---ah. Underneath my pillow. Nice one.

I sit up cradling my head. Hangover level: 8 of a possible ten. That's good I'm making such good improvements. With the one drink a night method, I should be able to cut back on sobriety enough to where one of these mornings I just won't wake up.

"You said you'd stay sober on this job," Lizzie walks in and pushes me off the bed, to get the alarm device that she apparently planted.

"Okay, I said I would think about not being completely hammered, which is really, really different from being sober---and the job has not started yet," I say, painfully climbing to my feet.

"We got the shipment yesterday therefore it has," Lizzie says, walking around my room picking up things. It would be like, endearing if she weren't just looking for my wonderful precious expensive life saving beautiful magnificent alcohol.

"I don't have to be---approaching sober unless I'm flying," I say, massaging my head.

"You'd think that headache would be enough to make you stop," she says, rubbing her own head.

"I know right? Show's what a lunatic I am," I laugh, "What time is it?"

"Seven."

"The fuck child???? What are you trying to do, kill me?" I move immediately back towards bed, "I went to bed four hours ago."

"No, you're trying to kill you. I'm trying to help you, you went to bed at midnight so far as I knew," she says, standing over me.

"I have explained to you there are at least three hours of drunken brooding and binge drinking and drinking contests with myself that need to take place prior to actual tormented sleep," I say, flopping down and putting my face into the pillow. "And I'm not trying to kill myself I am trying to stay alive."

"You're doing a poor job."

"Story of my life. Wake me up in time for dinner."

"No you start drinking at dinner. You're getting up now we have to get the ship ready," she pushes me off the bed. again.

"Shit," I groan, lying on the floor and not getting up. "All I can say is you'd better not have hidden my whiskey if you expect me to work through lunch."

"Oh believe me, I have."

"I was always good at hide and seek," I mutter, army crawling across the floor since I really can't get up from this position.

"Come on, we have to get the ship loaded up, then I'm going into town to find a crew," she says, helping me unsteadily to my feet. I stagger and have to put my hands her shoulders.

"Oh, finding crew, good, bar," I say, cheering up a little. Like a really small amount. Like imagine you're in a desert and dying and have no water, and like, you see a drop of sweat on your skin and lick it. Like that's how much I cheer up. or better analogy---you're drowning and freezing in the ocean. And you see a great big shark coming to eat you. And you cheer up because hey look, you won't painfully freeze or traumatically drown you'll just be ripped apart. Like that's how much I cheer up.

"I'm finding a crew, you don't do it right," she says, steading me on my feet.

"Having a drinking contest is a perfectly valid way to hire help, if I can out drink them they will consume less of MY alcohol during their employment," I say, haughtily, feeling my pockets for my glasses.

"Here—and it is not you can stay home and get shit-faced if you want," she says, producing my glasses and putting them on my face. I smile now that I can see her clearly through them.