I need to stop making bad decisions.
I keep doing this thing where I stay up late, reveling in my irresponsibility, then waking up early and hating myself. I tell myself I deserve it. I tell myself I work hard that what’s the point if you don’t get to enjoy life once in a while. But let’s face it: once in a while is kind of like, every night. And though I’ve never considered myself a coffee drinker, an unbiased review of my bank statement would reveal a large portion spent at late night establishments followed by a large portion spent the next morning at coffee joints.
That’s pretty hard evidence.
Last night I was out at one of said late night establishments waiting for Dave to finish playing his set so I could go home and pass out and began to write my blog on bar napkins. The bartender made a comment about J.K. Rowling, author of Harry Potter craziness, and how she started out homeless writing her story on cocktail napkins as well. And now, well, she’s richer than the Queen of England.
I didn’t have enough alcohol in me to delude myself into thinking that staying up late and scribbling on napkins was going to get me anywhere based on the precedent J.K. Rowling had set. First and foremost, I’m not homeless. I feel like that’s an important part of the underdog story there. Second (and perhaps equally important), I’m not J.K. Rowling.
Still, it would be nice to allow myself to think that recalling my late nights and early, zombie-like mornings this year of my post-a-day extravaganza would be looking back fondly on the blossoming days of my fame.
But I think I’m just tired. And I have been for many moons. There’s nothing fame-endowing about that.
And so this weekend I shall drive into the heart of Virginia to 1) seek out a Lollipop Tuesday of epic proportions and 2) sleep so often and so long that I actually reverse my under-eye dark circles. My under-eye area will be so light and fresh that people will assume I mismatched my concealer, but really I’ll be basking in the afterglow of Virginia sleep. I like to think it’s better than Pennsylvania sleep. At least that’s what I’ll tell myself this weekend when I’m sucking up the sweet nectar of hibernation.
You know, in between writing blog posts on scraps of paper. ♣