Somewhere between the third lemon drop of the day and the third puke of my closing bar shift, I realized my ‘I don’t feel that hungover/I don’t need a nap/three hours of sleep is plenty!/I can still do back-to-back partying/Yeah I’ll do some lemons drops‘ thought process is highly flawed.These new gruesome hangovers are kicking my ass. Sure, to a normal human, last night’s escapades would be considered a one-time-party-legend, referenced for all eternity, but I’m not normal and neither are my partying loving, drug doing friends, who have honestly really mellowed out in comparison to how we used to be.
But really, what is life anyway? What else am I going to do but have fun and be happy and have good relationships? I mean, I pay all my bills on time now and have to get at least seven hours of sleep a night, I do dishes and get excited about Swiffer WetJets and only hang out with four people. My life is a far cry from two years ago, when it very closely resembled a vampire flick and the sunrise usually meant it was time to go to bed or work. There were always new couch surfing friends and music equipment appearing in my living room on a weekly basis and it was exhausting. I’ve really grown up and realize now what I need to do to make myself happy and be the best person I can be and all that shit. So why do these nights of (in the words of my wonderful friend Michelle) “going ham” still leave a residue of guilt and shame all over my dying, hungover body?
I don’t know if it is maybe all of these crazy baby pictures I have been seeing (and really I mean crazy, like is this baby even real?!) or the fact that I still sometimes spend entire days on working up the energy to go downstairs and make some toast, but I thank god that some times, my only responsibility is feeding my cat.
Life is conflicting.