Timeline Of A Typical Hungover Friday

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7:30 a.m. – The alarm goes off. Your head is spinning. Where the hell are you? Of course, your bed. And according to those damn church bells vibrating from your iPhone, you have to get to work.

7:45 a.m. – You black out for the next 15 minutes.

8:00 a.m. – Cute. You’re going to be late. Like to everything else in your life, metaphorically and literally.

8:25 a.m. – After throwing on the first somewhat ironed and clean outfit you can get your hands on, you race out the door to begin your commute.

8:45 a.m. – Like everyone else on your commute, you’re late. But, it’s summer, so there is a eerily smaller amount of people actually making it to work on a Friday. You question your motives then realize you’ve gotten this far.

9:10 a.m. – You roll in late, but you’re more concerned about the throbbing in your head. You ask the executive assistant for Advil. She gives you serious side eye.

10:00 a.m. – Your first meeting of the day is generously at 10, but there are no carbohydrates to be found anywhere. The Friday morning donuts have been pillaged and you’re still dehydrated. Where are the water bottles usually in the conference room? Does karma actually exist? Or is this just an example of it?

10:45 a.m. – You dash to your desk and try to down whatever liquid is there (lukewarm coffee, leftover water) and end up so disgusted with yourself you pour a Crystal Light packet into a water bottle to make the chugging easier (there’s no chanting from other parties involved, so you need any extra help).

11:15 a.m. – Realize it’s almost lunchtime. You had nothing for breakfast because you were scared of the consequences. Damn you vodka, rum, tequila and whatever what’s-his-face ordered for you the night before.

11:30 a.m. – You realize you can’t wait any longer and go across the street to the deli for sustenance. Thankfully, they’re still serving breakfast.

11:40 a.m. – You don’t know why the people that work there hate you, but they always charge you more than the price on the menu. You assume it’s because of resting bitch face and are more concerned about the impending hash browns soaking up any remaining liquor in your stomach. You can’t fight them because they know they have a monopoly on not only your company, but most of the avenue in general.

11:42 a,m. – Realize they gave you full eggs instead of solely egg whites in your omelette. Bastards. They know you’ll be back.

11:47 a.m. – All the food is gone.

12:10 p.m. – Finally comprehend your project is on a deadline. You should have been more concerned about lost files than egg whites.

12:30 p.m. – Finish panicking and get to work.

12:45 p.m. – Your boss checks in. You look like you’re about to cry and have way too many Excel docs open because who actually names things in an organized manner.

1:30 p.m. – Finish the project.

1:32 p.m. – Realize there’s a second section.

1:33 p.m. – Realize you’re still too dehydrated to cry.

3:00 p.m. – Finish the second section. Why don’t you get summer Fridays again?

3:30 p.m. – Remember you’re a competent human being (JK your hangover wore off) and steadily tackle the rest of your daily tasks. You wonder why you didn’t monetize your day drinking blog in college, then recall that you hate taking pictures of yourself. Every photo is like stealing a bit of your soul. At least in Native American folk lore. You reminisce about how you liked to learn as a child. How can you still retain that information when you can’t even remember last weekend?

3:45 p.m. – Reflect on last weekend for the next 15 minutes.

4:00 p.m. – Tackle the next few things on your work list. That #blessed #blessed list.

5:30 p.m. – Look up at the clock and realize it’s nearly time to go. You spaced out.

5:45 p.m. – Why do so many of your Facebook friends own dogs? And why is she pregnant again? Isn’t the world overpopulated enough?

5:46 p.m. – Root around in your desk for that packet of oatmeal. You don’t plan on getting brunch tomorrow, so lord knows you’ll need it.

6:00 p.m. – Time to start the cyclical pattern of abuse that is the weekend all over again.

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Writer in NYC. To quote Dr. Seuss, "Being crazy isn't enough."

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