One of my fellow investigators used this term to sum it all up quite nicely in the early morning hours of a Sunday in June, 2014. And he was spot on…. Because a hangover, well, feels like a hangover no matter how you slice it.
Barreling west towards Indianapolis on Interstate 70 at 4:00 A.M. and fatigue set in like a thick blanket over the mind and body. The fatigue was a result of an evening of continual stair climbing in a three story building and emotionally tuned in observation. A storm developed as we exited the rural back roads of Ohio for the flattened plane of the interstate. The car’s wipers were on high because the rain was really coming down—rhythmic and very hypnotic—as the pavement dotted with construction cones melded seamlessly into the blackness of the countryside of eastern Indiana. The rain, and the team mates sleeping, suddenly accelerated that fatigue to the next and dangerous level. I was all alone and carrying their lives in my hands. We may have a problem here!
Or is it a certain room at the investigative site that’s negativity affects not just one, but four members of the team? All feel uneasy, nauseous, drained and somewhat manipulated. Only the fresh air of the outside porch brings them out of it, but even then not completely. Bad mojo? Did something not so nice happen in there at some point in the past? One investigator simply commented—“This is not a good place.” For all intents and purposes her night of investigating was over.
Or could it be the way you feel the next day…or the days following? In our younger years we recoup rather quickly; as we get older, not so much. There’s a lot to be said about moving about in a fuzzy, zombie like state in the days following an overnight investigation when your brain is a wad of cotton. However, what can be said is not always pretty.
As one plows through the almost empty darkness of an interstate with tires hissing across the wet pavement and the distant taillights of a semi-truck gradually drawing closer until you have to make that fuzzy decision to pass, you do what is needed to stay awake. Mine was replaying 1970s disco music in my head. I know…but it worked.
Diana Ross’ “Love Hangover” is a pulsating (at least the last half instrumental jam) 1976 disco classic that pretty much sums up the period when dance was king. Yes, I know, Diana was singing about love, but as stated earlier, a hangover is a hangover. And, for those who investigate the mysteries of the paranormal or those who are simply in love, emotion and dedication lie along the same lines At least that was my thought as this instrumental tempo drove me farther down the road towards Indianapolis.
“Ah, if there’s a cure for this, I don’t want it
Don’t want it
If there’s a remedy' I’ll run from it, from it.”
“I’ve got the sweetest hangover, I don’t want to get over
Interstate 70 merged into I-465 and we wound south towards Greenwood as the sky began to lighten with the coming dawn. We had made it and would live to fight another day. And…drive one more time through the dawn of another day.
As Jason Hawes of television’s Ghost Hunters religiously proclaims at the end of each and every investigation—“On to the next!”
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