You went out. Hard. And not “hard” in the sense that you stayed up until 2 a.m. dancing to Chainsmokers remixes at your friend’s apartment before passing out because you were so tired. I mean “hard” in the sense that someone handed you a double-shot of Patron only for you hold your hands over your mouth en route to the bathroom like the Speak No Evil Monkey Emoji.
Sunday comes and, sure, you’re hungover. But it’s a hangover just like every other hangover you have. You wake up, text all your friends, “I think I’m dying,” before hitting brunch and lethargically walking around farting all day while dreading going to work on Monday. You settle in for some dinner before knocking out HBO’s line-up and reading everyone’s angry tweets about it. You fall asleep and have fever dreams about all the emails you’ve ignored since Thursday afternoon. But it’s okay, because come Monday, everything will be alright and that hangover will be a distant memory of weekend’s past.
Until Monday comes and you’re somehow, some way, still as hungover as you were the day before. You wake up with the realization that you barely hit your stride in the REM cycle because you were in and out of sleep while trying to figure out if your body was either burning up or freezing cold. Walking to the bathroom to get ready for work, you rinse the weekend’s sludge off your body, and before putting on your work clothes that make you wonder, “Did these shrink?”– the answer is no, they did not shrink. Your body is just bloated from tacos and queso you Postmated on Saturday in your Uber home that undoubtedly hurt your rating.
When you arrive at work, the goal is to drink as many cups of coffee as cocktails you had at dinner on Friday night, which is somewhere between four and six, but you’re not entirely sure. The unfortunate truth is that no matter how many coffees you have, your energy level will remain at a constant state of “this feels reminiscent of finals week where I slept for two hours in six days.”
Those emails you ignored? You’re responding to them with twenty-word answers when they probably deserve hundred-word answers. That lunch you you didn’t have the energy to pack? You’re replacing it with Jimmy John’s desk delivery because you’re too beaten down to do anything else. That feeling you get after you eat that Vito with hot peppers and light mayo (which is your half-assed attempt to be “healthy”)? That’s just your belt screaming for mercy so you go to the bathroom to loosen it a notch.
The “two o’clock feeling” that 5 Hour Energy commercials talk about has never felt so real, except it’s only one o’clock and the work day is hovering around being only half over. The next four hours feel like you’re watching The Lord Of The Rings trilogy on Ambien because you have no idea what’s going on, it feels like twelve hours, and you can barely keep your eyes open.
When you finally leave work, you can barely even get excited. After all, you’re just going to go home, eat pizza alone because it’s a work night, and sit uncomfortably on the couch watching The Bachelorette before getting in bed to scroll Instagram for 45 minutes as your achy arm falls asleep. You think your sheets smell like your sweat from the night prior, but you also aren’t entirely sure that’s not just the current state of your body. “Today was miserable,” you think to yourself as you doze off mid-Jimmy Fallon’s monologue.
But, hey, there’s always Tuesday. .
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