A retread of an article written in 2014 for The Examiner.
By Rick Hinton
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 toward Indianapolis on Interstate 70 at 4 a.m. and fatigue has set in like a thick blanket over the mind and body. The fatigue was a result of an evening filled with emotionally tuned-in observation and continual stair climbing in a three-story building. A storm developed as we exited the twisty 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 hypnotic – as the pavement, dotted with construction cones, melded seamlessly into the blackness of the countryside of eastern Indiana. The rain, and the teammates sleeping (including my wife), suddenly accelerated that fatigue to the next dangerous level. I was all alone and carrying their lives in my hands. We may have a problem here!
Was it a certain room at the investigative site that’s negatively affected not just one, but four members of the team? All felt uneasy, nausea, drained and somewhat manipulated. Only the fresh air of the outside concrete porch brought them out of it, but even then not completely. Bad mojo? Did something not so nice happen here 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.
Paranormal hangover? Could it be the way you feel the next day, and 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.
As one plows through the almost empty darkness of an interstate, with tires hissing across 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 the instrumental tempo drove me farther down the road toward 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, run from it … I’ve got the sweetest hangover, I don’t want to get over … Sweetest hangover!”
Interstate 70 merged into I-465 and we wound south toward 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 dark of another early morning. On to the next!
