Hungover

I went to a cocktail party last night and didn't get back until the ungodly (in my sleep-revering world) hour of 1 am. I happily gulped down the non-alcoholic punch and didn't feel even a twinge of envy of my friends pounding Jaeger shots (Shots aside, it was a very classy party - good work Bridge!)

Yet this morning I dragged myself up with Petal feeling like death warmed over, and quickly suckered Shakira into spending a few hours of quality time with her niece. When I finally emerged after 10 am, I mumbled through a sleepy fog through conversations with my mom and Jack, then asked my mom if she would like to spend a few hours with Petal while I put in some hours on my contracting work, feeling that it would take far less energy than chasing a rambunctious almost-toddler.

It's no secret to anyone that I used to be a hard core drinker. A hangover was a small price to pay for a night of mayhem - the word my 2 best male friends and I used to describe our shenanagins. We referred to ourselves as the Toxic Trio and loved nothing more than a night that was sure to generate epic sagas in the retelling for years to come. I had fun trotting out some of the oldies but goodies for my friend Nessie's new boyfriend last night (he's totally a keeper.)

In the past few years, I've cut way back on my drinking and because I'm currently taking anti-depressants, I'm not drinking at all. I'm proud of myself from emerging from a cycle of binge drinking that would put some rock stars to shame, but I don't have nearly as many good stories these days.