I woke up this morning with what I’ve decided is the new version of a hangover. My daily, obnoxious alarm rang out at 5:30 a.m. and was promptly snoozed…3 times. Somehow, the glue fairy must have snuck into our room during the night and securely fastened me to the bed. I could not peel myself off that mattress with all my might. And whatever mumbled, post-awakened conversation I had with Mr. Rathroy has been wiped from my memory. Did the dog get fed this morning? I’m still not sure. I feel fairly certain that I showered with my eyes closed and don’t think for a second that I bothered to wash my hair today. I was simultaneously starving and averse to food – coffee was the only thing I wanted – and putting on shoes was torture. Did heels seriously always hurt this bad?! I dragged my ass to an office that was completely empty and proceeded to march through my day. I’m an adult now – with a career and a house and a dog and a hangover. Only problem is, there was no alcohol involved.
As I creep toward 30, so does my social media feed. My entire network is making the transition into real adulthood. Not the adulthood that I panicked about when I turned 20 because my teens were officially over, and not the adulthood I stared at blankly when I graduated college (because really, does college prepare you for adulthood at all? Personally, I was at my most immature in college…). We all seem to be slowly absorbing and experiencing individual things that cumulatively make us grown ups – one wedding or baby’s first birthday at a time, and suddenly we’re slammed with the realization that we’re now the adults that some of us swore we’d never be.
Last night, rather than earning a hangover with booze and dancing and poor decisions about late night taco bell, I was at a work event. I mingled and scanned the silent auction and walked like 7 miles around the venue in heels. I even presented an award to someone on stage. It was a seriously grown up evening. But after a 13 hour day and not nearly enough sleep, I fear there’s not enough coffee in the world to pull me through this adult hangover.
Everyone talks about how much harder it is to deal with hangovers as you get older. I’ll admit that I’ve had some bad ones in my day. You know, the kind where you lay on the couch half dead all day trying to force down some ice water and pizza without gagging? And they have, admittedly, gotten worse as I get older. The open bar at the last wedding we attended almost killed me. But this…this exhausted, dehydration induced non-functioning adult hangover is maddening. Where are the funny stories or ridiculous pictures or confidence that you’re just enjoying life while you can? You know what picture I took last night? This one right after presenting an award to a wonderful colleague in my field.
And as lovely as that photo is and for how great the work event was, doesn’t it just make the 22 year-old inside cringe a little? I mean, if I’m going to be nonfunctional for an entire day, I’d at least like to have earned it with Jameson.
But, I guess I’ll eventually have to accept that I can’t stop adulthood from rushing toward me. And truthfully, I’ve been enjoying it more than I thought I would. There’s brunch and meaningful careers and silly spouse humor (mostly because Mr. Rathroy brings it to the table) and, if you’re lucky, disposable income so you can do things like go to Patagonia.
So while I’m not particularly overjoyed that working too hard gives me a hangover now, I can’t complain about working hard on something I love. Let’s be honest, I can’t complain about any of this at all.