Let’s talk about: Hungover Chronicles.

If you follow me on Instagram, you’ve probably noticed that I’ve been quite frequent at drinking over last few weeks. AND, no it’s not because I’m a full-blown addict, it is because I am a regular twenty-five year old with a some kind of social life and love for tequila.

Also, it is June. Which means it is summer. Which means that day time drinking is acceptable without being judged by old ladies on tube. So here we are. ALL IS great.

How do you go out and get absolutely shit-faced and then you have a completely normal next day?

UM, it is doable. ALSO, I’ve kinda became an expert over the years.

So yes, I’m writing this for me, but mostly you, my dear.

Do you know that feeling when you wake up in the morning (or few hours after you passed out in your bed, whilst half-way through taking off your make up) and your head feels like someone smacked you with a bat and you can’t fully open your eyes because they’re either stuck together or you forgot to pull down your blinds and the day light is all of a sudden making you feel like a freaking vampire under the direct sun?

Huh, that’s the level of rough I feel most of the time, YES.

At this point, I turn on my back and put a pillow over my face, trying to recall why the heck to I feel like the herd of rhinos ran all over me, but ALSO how the hell am I supposed to make it though the day???

FYI, my nights out usually go like this.

After I decide that once again eyeliner is a NO NO, and down my third glass of wine whilst Florence and Machine are playing in the background. I’m taking approximately 45-89 selfies, of which one or maybe even none will be posted. Then I decide to tidy after myself, because hello OCD but also, A GIFT to my-tomorrow’s-very-hungover-self.

Then I’m ready to go out.

Starting with vodka-sodas, because we love vodka and we are trying to stay hydrated (and yes, pls I do need a vodka brand to sponsor me). Then somewhere between vodkas, and occasional tequila shoots (which according to my bank statement the very next day cost more than a new liver on illegal market) I do rum and coke or two, just to change the taste to somewhat pleasant. When I genuinely think I’ve had enough of strong drinks (and I usually figure this out when texting the wrong person or telling the lovely girl in the toilet queue that I’ll pay for her uni expenses), I go and buy a beer, to fight that disgusting dry mouth feeling, but I buy Desperados aka tequila beer.

At this point, my tummy (but mostly heart) tells me that it’s Mc Donald’s time. SO we find the nearest one. But on the way there we usually meet one, two or sometimes ten homeless people who are for God knows what reason always very chatty at 2am. So after we discus latest Brexit talks, and everyone’s agenda for the summer we say our goodbyes with a promise to take care as many strange people are lurking at this time of a night. (We always ask if they want some food, but they are usually always after a quid or two, so we give them whatever coins we can find at the bottom of our bags)

My go to order in Mcds is: extra gherkin-double cheeseburger, two large fries (very salted) with sweet curry sauce and coke zero. AND, if you never had to wait for your Mc Donald’s order for 30 minutes together with half of the London, you don’t know what commitment is.

Sometime after figuring out how the heck I got on the right tube I needed to and fidgeting with my phone to get an Uber to take me to mi casa, I find myself turning my bag upside down in front my door to find the key because at this point I really, really, really have to pee, only to remember that I hid it in the “safe” zip pocket.

It takes me around 45 seconds to take my shoes off and climb three flights of stairs that get me to my bedroom, but for some weird reason at this point this seems like a forever.

I usually end up sitting on my bed for next five minutes, because my Spotify is still on, and I’m probably mentally preforming at the Grammy’s.

Which leads us back to me sitting on my bed just few hours later and trying to regain full control of my brain and body.

At this point I’ve already decided that fried eggs and salted butter on toast are what I need to get my shit together but first THE SHOWER.

THE SHOWER has to be boiling hot when I get in, because that chilly feeling you’ve got is you lacking sleep and metabolising alcohol.

Then after washing your face and hair you do conditioner, but slightly switch water to lukewarm, because the last stage is turning water ice cold to snap you out of whatever bad decision you were over-thinking.

So when you sterilise your outside, and use scrub to make sure disease from touching everything in that dodgy club last night is gone, you wish you could wash your insides, but coffee will do.

NOW. If you’re a thrower upper (thanks to sweet baby JESUS I AM NOT), I suggest going for tea, or any liquid you can keep down. And toast. I is just going to quickly make full English breakfast because, thank you genetics I can eat.

Now you’ve eaten, sure you can pop few Aspirins for that awful headache ( I mean it’s not going to make up for a fact you chugged seven vodka-sodas last night Barbara, but it will help. ) but I suggest spending the next few hours lying horizontal.

I mean, unless you’re working, there is really no better thing to do than to either take a nap or watch Netflix.

(If you are working, or worse, have a family occasion you need to attend, I highly suggest drinking one re-hydration sachet, tons of concealer and grabbing Mc Muffin and black coffee on a way.)

But if you’re lucky (and smart enough), your hungovers will most probably be present on your days off.

So please, please, please do yourself a favour and enjoy them.

Turn your phone off. Switch your brain off. Enjoy slouching on a sofa. Lounge clothes were invented for moments like this. Take advantage of food deliveries. Hydrate. Chill. Recover. Take a bath. OR. Take a walk. Go to pub for a roast. Go to a corner shop for gummy bears. Do what you’e feeling doing, even if it’s nothing but breathing.

BECAUSE, it is completely fine to count this as normal.

Hungovers are not half bad when you accept them as necessity and aftermaths of a good night out. When you actually have a reason to take it slow, because we all know how guilty we feel taking some time off.

When everything you can think about, and SHOULD think about is what are you watching and where’s the next source of carbs coming from?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.