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I’m Getting Fucked Up Tonight

I'm Getting Fucked Up Tonight

I set the alarm on my iPhone 6 thirty minutes earlier than usual when I plan on cooking breakfast. Three eggs, served scrambled, for protein, an avocado for healthy fat and a single piece of toast to ensure that I feel full when I enter the office. I’ve been attempting to avoid grain-based carbohydrates and starches to reduce what I perceive to be brain fog, but one piece has little effect on my clarity.

This morning, I sat down in my office chair and turned on my Dell desktop computer. While I waited for the system to boot up, I walked confidently to the break room to obtain my usual cup of coffee. I drink it black to avoid the sugar. I arrived back at my desk and noticed my phone glowing with notifications. Knowing that I would be unable to begin my workday in good faith without tending to these notifications, I entered the passcode to my phone which is comprised of my month of birth and the year in which my college girlfriend was born. I refuse to change it. It’s been my pin code for too long, and even though she means nothing to me anymore, changing it now would be a concession.

As I suspected, a group text comprised of my closest friends from the last decade was the culprit. Although most of us live within a reasonable distance of each other, it is rare to have an impromptu weeknight social outing. That’s going to change, though. I’d like to get fucked up tonight.

I normally don’t indulge on weeknights. There’s a prevailing sentiment amongst my older peers that a man in my situation should be out every night, enjoying the fruits of his labor as recklessly as possible. Some would do anything to be in my position. Others just want the occasional distraction from mortgages, daycare and loveless marriages. I just want to see my friends every now and then. Real friends. Not the people who I tolerate only because it would be a breach of social norms not to do so, but the friends who aren’t afraid to call me on my bullshit.

On the off chance that I go drinking on a weeknight, Wednesday night is the night. Common wisdom may say that Thursday is the more prudent choice, but I believe that stems from a college mentality, and I respectfully disagree with that mindset. This evening, I will leave my office after 6 p.m. to ensure that I’m able to enjoy spirits without any feeling of dread for what waits for me tomorrow morning. I don’t fear hangovers, but I respect them. Working hungover separates the pawns from the kings.

After I depart my office, I will wait for my cellphone to connect to the bluetooth feature in my vehicle. Then, as I pull out of our dated parking garage, I will call up one of the three friends who has agreed to the mid-week diversion. We will discuss our destination and joke about who will back out at the last minute. We won’t discuss her, though.

I will enter my apartment and immediately set my briefcase near my front door. From there, I will remove an Oxford shirt from the clear dry-cleaning wrap and hang it from my bedroom door handle. I prefer to lay clothes out for the next day to save time in case I am running late. By this time, I will be craving a small drink to prepare me for the night ahead. Woodford, four cubes and a splash of Canada Dry club soda will suffice.

As I sip my newly made drink in silence, I will send out a final confirmation text to the group. In a perfect world, all members would uphold their vow and attend. We’ll see if that’s the case. We are each four very different souls with very different distractions in this imperfect world. But I have a feeling that tonight will be a successful venture. There is no pressure to make new friends. There is no pressure to shake hands with anyone I don’t have to. There is no pressure to meet someone who may fill the void that may or may not exist in my life.

Tonight, I will be with my friends.

Image via Shutterstock

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