Omg… I’m never drinking again. I really mean it…Today. Definitely yesterday. 100% on Sunday. I was a mess of massive proportions on Sunday. Yesterday not much better. Why is being hungover so much worse the older you get? It’s like life wants to fuck you over two fold. Finally you can afford to drink at will whenever and wherever you want but somehow now you always take it too far. Apparently you can have too much fun? I don’t know about you but I’m screwed for days! It’s not bad enough that I’m getting older and producing wrinkles, grey hair and laughter lines.. (fuck knows what I’ve found so amusing to be so deserving of them btw). I can now no longer handle my drink!
Nowadays one too many tequilas and I have the shakes on a Monday. Too much fizz and it’s a fuzzy head on Sunday. A jäger bomb or three and it’s talking to the big white telephone, red wine equals a headache from hell (and stained lips), too many gins and no one loves me. What is happening to me… I do not recognise the person I’ve become. What happened to doing an all-nighter and then bouncing out of bed and getting back on it, hair of the dog style? What happened to the weekend bender? To working after 4 hours sleep and going straight to the pub after work? I used to go out Thursday to Sunday nights, get shit faced and still go to work and college! I was hard core… I was 18….
These days for every dance on the tables moment, for every look at me I’m the life and soul of the party, for every shots on me, whoop! For every eatings cheating (I really should know better, I’m 41 for gods sake). For every moment of alcohol related revelry there is a payback. The piper must be paid! Usually to my detriment.
The older you get the worse it is and apparently the less you learn. Or maybe it’s the old age kicking in and you just forget how bad it’s going to make you feel! Don’t get me wrong even if I’d remembered I wouldn’t have given a toss after a bottle of prosseco, two gins, jäger bombs, tequila and the weird shit I made when I was so pissed I actually believed I was a master mixologist. It was disgusting by the way but I persevered because I may not be able to handle my booze but I’m not a quitter. By this point I was already making the dreaded plans I love to make when merry. Spurred on by this I will most definitely have had another shot to celebrate my awesome idea. Fuck knows what it was (the idea that is). I do know the shot had Kahlúa in it! Classy!
FYI Beer pong was not made for ladies and gents of a certain age… Downing anything you don’t recognise should be kept clear of at all costs…. This I remember the day after… Always the day after.
A Sunday spent laid on the sofa, not getting dressed, watching films with a fleecy blanket wrapped round me for security actually sounds amazing. However the reality is every time I move I’m likely to hurl, my heads throbbing and I can’t function till at least 4pm. When I have to make food as I have a family. I’m a grown up allegedly. Apparently I have to do shit.
Then comes Monday. I’m going to be fine by Monday aren’t I? I mean it’s Monday a new week for gods sake… Bollox, I’m old so now Monday is a living nightmare. I have to adult. It’s excruciating! I’m in charge of things. I can’t hide in the fag shed or loos texting anyone who cares how shit life is right now. I have to be a fully functioning grown up. How can I still be hungover from Saturday night. Wtf is that all about?
Then comes Tuesday. You have got to be freaking kidding me! Seriously… At least by Tuesday I’m able to eat again. Downside is my miraculous weight loss the only upside of Sunday and Monday had reverted back to what it was pre drinks on Saturday. Black Tuesday is here. I want to cry. I’m over emotional all day. One word can tip me over the edge. For the love of god don’t let me watch Ellen or anything remotely sad, cute or happy. By 8.30pm I will be in bed praying for a better day tomorrow. Swearing blind I’m never drinking again.
So what have I learned? I learned I’m too old for this shit. I’ve learned it takes me three days to recover from what was meant to be a sensible meal with drinks. I’ve learned chilli cornbread pie is just as good two days after and I’m not a master mixologist. Other than that I’m pretty sure I’ll do it all again sometime soon because I may be 41 but I never actually learn.
Right it’s off to bed for me. It’s 8.30 pm after all! #prayingforabetterdaytomorrow