Last night I went out to the Christmas pageant and was home before midnight. I slept until 11 and I'm still incredibly tired now. What happened to me?
Yeah, the pageant was last night. Madam Lash wasn't as Lashy as my friends were hoping for, but I did myself proud I think. I managed to walk around in 3 inch heels (and the walk around meant carrying a banner for 3 blocks) without falling over. And that included walking in thick grass as well. Refrained from decking any annoying 7 - 12 year olds who thought that when I said "No, frig off!" I was really saying, "Yes, please squirt me with your water pistol. I would really like it if you could squirt me so it looks like I wet my pants." Danced up a storm, and while I didn't win a bottle of champange during the Nutbush/Macarena/Time Warp dance off, I at least knew all the moves. It would have been nice though to know beforehand that I wasn't eligible to win the champers, but I gave my all. I am a Dancing Queen. I feel the beat of tambourines.
I didn't even drink all the alcoholic beverages I took with me, which amazed me. I was never without a drink, and yet I had spares. Most excellent, as I got home and watched TV while having a few quiet ones. At least I hope they were quiet ones - I have no volume control when I'm drinking. The neighbours haven't said anything, so I'm guessing I was on mute.
But what happened to me? I know as you get older your recovery time gets longer and longer, but come on! I ain't that old! I didn't even really drink that much, or dance as much as I used to. While I'm happy I didn't throw up this morning, the groggy hung-over feeling has lasted all day. At least I didn't have the headache-y hang-over, but the all over ache was uncalled for. If I'm going to feel crappy, I'd at least like to have done more to earn it.
I have this theory that if I want to get back up to my old recovery time, or at least get to a stage where I earn the right to waste the day after trying to decide if sleeping on the bathroom floor will just save me precious time, I'm going to have to go out more. Stay out later. Succumb to peer pressure and have one, two, five more cowboy shooters before heading home.
I don't want to grow up. I don't want to be a mature adult. But I have a sickening feeling that it may have already happened without warning.
Someone pass me the berocca.