Life after college is filled with a number of big firsts. You get your first real job, you fill out a W-4 correctly for the first time, and you experience your first hangover that’s so debilitating, it could bring a grown man to tears.
Our generation was the first to diagnose what is commonly known in the non-medical community as “FOMO,” or the “fear of missing out.” Symptoms of FOMO include extreme guilt for being a pussy, prolonged anxiety during isolation, and chronic regret. I assume statistics say 100 percent of fun-loving undergrads have suffered from this non-terminal illness.
But as you round the mid-twenties hump, you start to see a different kind of sickness plaguing the postgrad community. On a Saturday night, opting out of the bar scene is no longer a question of, “Could tonight be the best night of my life?” but rather, “Could tomorrow be the worst day of my life?”
Say it with me: “I hate being hungover more than I love drinking.”
Did that hit too close to home? Forget WebMD–PGP just diagnosed you with a case of FOBHO.
In a world where social media allows us to be lazy fucks who lie on the couch and sleuth on people we don’t even know, it also bombards us with all the cool shit that everyone else is doing.
So you wanted to spend the night in, relaxing with a nice glass of red? That sounds amazing. Along comes a 60-second Hulu Plus commercial break, and God forbid you have to endure a second disconnected from the teat of technology, so what do you do? Check Instagram. And Twitter. If time allows, watch some of your idiot friend’s Snapchat stories. And BAM! You are flooded with pictures of your friends having one helluva time. Suddenly, you feel that familiar feeling creeping up, the thought that tonight could literally be the BEST night of the year and you are missing out. You begin to weigh the options.
FOMO: Going out and having an unforgettable time.
FOBHO: Being so hungover, your entire Sunday is spent horizontal.
FOMO: Making memories.
FOBHO: Puking so hard the next morning that you pop blood vessels in your eyes.
FOMO: Feeling like a part of the group.
FOBHO: Being a piece of human garbage at work Monday because you’ve got a two-day hangover.
FOMO: Not missing out on the good times.
FOBHO: The Sunday scaries, on steroids.
It’s unclear if there is a proper way to maintain a balanced lifestyle of drunken nights and hungover mornings, but perhaps FOBHO is the first ailment that can provide you with highly productive Sundays without the crippling defeat that comes with giving in to FOMO.
So, next time you find yourself having an internal debate on whether the six shots of Fireball you will inevitability consume tonight will be worth the hours of dry heaving you will experience tomorrow, let go and let FOBHO take the wheel. Chances are, for once, you won’t regret it..