So I think a pretty big revelation during the mid-to-(ahem)later twenties is that we often can't hold our liquor or our late nights like we used to. Yeah, yeah, it's tempting to throw caution to the wind and attempt the kind of Saturday night that was harmless when you were, say, 22.
Maybe it's because I'm so focused on self-care these days that I am extra sensitive to any disruptions in my system. Or maybe it's because I worry about my dissertation and don't get enough REM sleep. Maybe. But I'm rather convinced that it's my aging that's limiting me. And that's actually a remarkable thing. It's like my body has a voice and it's saying (via a headache, fatigue, the general malaise that makes you want to scowl at everyone you see): "Hey, don't you think these days you're better suited by a nice dinner, and sticking with one kind of alcohol, and getting to sleep at a reasonable hour so you'll feel like getting up to go on a run or clean your house?"
Lord, is that where I've come to? I fear, I fear so.
Here's the post-Bourbon resurrection diet:
-ginger ale, ice cold, lots of it
-a big plate of pasta at about 1pm (eat slowly, though)
-easily-accessible aspirin (many doses may be required)
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