It’s Sunday morning (and by morning, I mean afternoon). You wake up in a haze, as you place yourself. Instantly, a montage of images from last night creep into your pretty lil’ head. The same head that is aching, might I add. It’s the morning after. You went out last night and promised yourself you’d stick to a two drink maximum policy. But as the second one was coming to a sad and lonely end, you couldn’t resist. What’s one more drink?
Well let me tell you what it is: One more drink is waking up and needing to check your phone in panic, uncertain of who you sent a drunk text to/who you drunk dialed, etc. One more drink is having pictures on your camera (The Hangover style), when you don’t even remember bringing your camera out in the first place. One more drink is pulling a Frank The Tank – sure it tastes so good when it hits your lips – but it doesn’t feel as good when you awake. One more drink is needing to spend a day in bed to recuperate.
I love my bed – especially on Sunday’s. I’ve spent many a Sunday in that bed, for hours on end, only leaving to do the basics: get food (to bring to my bed to eat, of course), and washroom visits. But it came with a cost. It has cost me many a Sunday’s where I could have been living my life. I could ‘shoulda, coulda, woulda,’ all these Sunday’s in a regretful, bitter tone, but I prefer to take the optimists way out. Yes, I’ve missed many opportunities to be active and get stuff accomplished on Sunday’s past. I accept that, and I will move forward knowing that this is something I’d like to change, and am changing, starting today.
How can you possibly go out of your house – let alone get out of your bed – when you feel like absolute head-killing, room-spinning, racoon-eyed, garbage? Let alone, you can’t seem to scrub that stamp off your hand. I’ll tell you how: They say our behaviour directly effects our mood. Rinse off that Debbie Downer hangover in the shower, take some time to do your hair and put on a feel-good outfit, and head out of your house – even just to grab a bite to eat or a Non-Fat Grande Vanilla Latte (with a Venti ice water on the side) from your neighbourhood Starbucks. It will get you out of your house, and just going through the motions will make you feel great. This coming from the girl who’s typing these words onto her screen in the corner of Starbucks, hiding between a trendy-looking, messy-hair-hiding fedora. At least I’m not in bed, right? I’ve run into a few old friends, and have communicated with the outside world. It feels good. I urge you to try it. As you read these words on the screen you may entertain the idea, but the devil over your shoulders will likely chime in ‘Who are you kidding? It’s the morning after. You are not cut out for this.’ Well picture me (fedora and all,) as if I am your life coach. Here I sit, cheering for you to test out this theory. ‘Do it!’ I say, way too enthusiastically for a somber Sunday. Running through the actions will make you feel fabulous, and best of all, you won’t look back at your twentysomethings in regret, because you’ll know you made the most of your days.
Still not convinced? Let me know your Sunday go-to tricks to make the morning after not seem like a chore.