A Mundane Monday Post –

This past week felt like the pre holiday chaos arrived early like December accidentally hit “fast forward” and landed right on Thanksgiving. Work was rough, the kind of rough that makes you question every life choice while staring blankly at your computer screen.

So when Friday evening came, my husband and I surrendered to the couch. Absolutely no productivity. Zero. Just two proud potatoes absorbing TV light and serenity.

Saturday, though, had main character energy. I started the day clearing out my closet  handing a bag of clothes to my mother in law, who treats donating outfits like it’s her personal side quest. Then off we went into the city for a couples massage that could’ve singlehandedly ended a small war. Deep relaxation. Cinematic music playing in my mind.

Dinner was at Sushi Lab, where we fully committed to a 13 course Omakase like the seasoned food critics we pretend to be. It was divine. I paired it with a single glass of wine and since I love drama , I ended it with an espresso martini. The plan was to head home like responsible adults.

But the city had other plans for us. Friends started texting: “Come to Williamsburg!” And because we hadn’t seen some of them in ages, we caved. I went in with the intention of being chill  half the night I sipped on surprisingly convincing nonalcoholic drinks. Faux but fabulous.

Then, somewhere around “Oh wow, look at the time,” I made the fateful decision: a Manhattan, because we were leaving soon. Except… we did not leave soon. In true college era fashion, we somehow began the buying another Olympics. Three Manhattans and a rogue shot later, there we were doing karaoke like it was 2014 again. My husband stuck to nonalcoholic drinks all night and safely drove us home.

And then came Sunday. The Hangover!

Zumba? Canceled. Motivation? Deleted. I felt like a shriveled raisin of regret. I kept thinking, Wow, what a waste of a perfectly good day.

Naturally, I embarked on the sacred ritual of hangover healing: McDonald’s breakfast, Shake Shack with a large soda for moral support, and Sarku’s greasy rice because nothing comforts the soul like oil and carbs joining forces.

But the whole experience left me thinking… do I really want this to be my normal? I love fun, but maybe I want fun that doesn’t require a full next day recovery mission. Maybe the once in a blue moon version  weddings, milestone birthdays, the occasional celebration  is more my speed. Maybe it’s time to gently start de-centering alcohol from what “fun” is supposed to look like.

As I get older, I’m reminding myself that becoming the best version of me isn’t just a Pinterest quote  it’s about choices I actually control… fewer last call cocktails, fewer late night adventures, more sleep, more peace, more mornings that don’t feel like survival mode.

Anyway, that’s this week’s ramble.

Next chapter: Thanksgiving.

We’ll see what plot twists await.