I read it the other night as I was getting ready and as a result got back into my pyjamas and went to sleep early.
Let's hope it has a long-lasting effect...
My head is pounding. I have random bruises everywhere, my throat feels like I swallowed razor blades and I'm almost convinced I was beaten in the lower back by tiny ninja fists in my sleep.
Any kid between 18 (16 if you're one of those eager types) and 23 knows that means I went out last night but for anyone outside of that range who has forgotten what this feels like, is in denial about their own alcoholic heyday or is of the opinion that generation Y is a lot worse than they were, these are classic symptoms of a hangover.
It always starts the same.
It's someone's birthday - "I don't usually go out but tonight I have to" - Just one drink okay? I'll be home early.
Lies, lies, lies.
The night always starts with "we'll just go out for a little bit" and typically ends in "I think I'm going to be sick".
Even my recovery session is predictable; I take the legal limit of pain killers that I'm allowed for the day, drink several litres of water, pretend to look like I'm doing something useful so Mum won't look at me with her "I told you so" eyes while feeling sorry for myself and then I make myself a promise that this is the last time.
Which is what I said last time.
And also the time before that.
So what is it that keeps us coming back? Because the night's analysis always concludes that the club was gross, the music lame, the boys unimpressive and my new outfit wasted on yet another forgettable night.
But surely, it must be something. Or are we just gluttons for punishment? Personally, I think we're addicted to the lie of it all. The hope that tonight will erase the week's pain, heartbreak, disappointment. That tonight will make us forget everything that happened before it.
Wrong again.
From experience I've learned not only does the night out do nothing of the sort, it also tends to make things worse. In my drunken stupor I'm more likely to make a fool of myself railing against the injustices of my lot in life. And in the morning all I have to show for it is a headache, an empty bank account and a feeling something akin to regret.
I've come to realise that my life is slowly spiralling into something reminiscent of an absolutely fabulous episode but less amusing sans the english accent. And despite the fresh promises I make myself as I get ready each time, every post-big-night-out I die a little inside.
I have to admit, I am slightly horrified that at 22 I no longer have the stamina or elasticity I had at 18. In my glory days we'd go out three nights in a row, drink the bar clean each time and still get up for class at 8am. Now if I venture into the city on a Friday, I'm still hating my life come Tuesday. By Thursday I'm still promising myself my drinking days are over and then just when I'm starting to feel a little like my normal self, it's so-and-so's birthday all over again and I'm back to where I started.
My mum has always said that 'nothing good ever happens after 2am' and as much as I hate to admit it, I think she might be right. Between 12 and 2 I'm having the time of my life. After that I'm throwing up in an alley way, crying in a potplant, reassuring her that the new girlfriend is ugly or doing something else I am sure to regret come morning. Something else foolish that I hope my grandkids never find out about and blackmail me with.
I am on a mission to change this pattern - to go home early while the night's still amazing - before it becomes just another link in my chain of regret.
I'll let you know how it goes.
For now though, unsurprisingly, today's lesson is an easy one.
Lesson Fourteen: Nothing good ever happens after 2am.
Wish me luck!
Have a great week xx
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