We’ve all been there.
Rocking up with a mere two hours sleep, bacon and egg roll in one hand, the black doctor (diet coke) in the other. Oversized glasses protecting your blood shot eyes from the searing sunlight and judgmental stares of fellow employees. In my early twenty’s, I thought this was fun. I felt like battling through somehow made me a true-blue, tough Aussie. Work hard, play hard.
Now I really struggle, my hangovers are severe. By lunchtime I’ve turned into a shaking sweaty mess, who even after obligatory B&E roll could eat 10 big macs. I’m hungry, angry and can’t concentrate on anything but the slow ticking clock. My eye balls are dry, eyelids are heavy, and I just want bed.
What’s more people expect things. I know, how audacious. When I was 20 I could post about how hungover I was on Facebook while I pretended to do work (which was largely unimportant). I had a network of support, and there was a sense of comradery, I was sharing the pain with my friends who also thought five tequila shots on a Sunday was a smart decision. It also started to feel like being the most hungover was a badge of honour, like you were some kind of superhero if you could play goon of fortune and get through Monday unscathed.
Now work is more demanding. I have to have meaningful conversations, provide input on strategies or offer solutions, all the while trying not to barf.
This is my predicament. I know how painful the hangover is, but I still want to enjoy the night. Sunday’s have become my favourite day for a boozy lunch which often turns into a boozy night. A la, hungover Rachel will kick my ass but right now I’m having so much fun.
I think it’s about finding balance, selecting the occasions you’re really willing to have a hungover work day for.
Or, you just chuck a sickie.