8am Office Burrito

I think we can all agree that our favorite part of sobriety is being hangover free. Waking up in the morning and not feeling like a pile of garbage really puts a spring in our step. It might be the fact that we actually slept the night before as opposed to (metaphorically or literally) passing out, waking up at 3am with either terrifying anxiety or severe dry mouth which prompts you to drink a lake's worth of water, and then rolling around in agony until morning comes (far too soon I might add). I don't think I'll ever miss hangovers, scratch that, I know I will NEVER miss hangovers. With that said, they didn't keep me from drinking daily for many years, funny how that works. When I feel spunky and divulge how much I was drinking the first thing people ask is:

"How the hell did you handle the hangover?"

Not very well. That's kind of why I am here...

When I was 18 years old I could drink a fifth of Sailor Jerry's rum, smoke two packs of cigarettes, waitress a double shift the next day, and probably go for a run after work. At 32 years old I would drink (far) too much wine and then be willing to lose my job the next day if it meant I could lay around, binge watch The Hunger Games, and eat greasy takeout. Sometimes the next day I felt nothing. Sometimes I felt like I'd rather hurdle my body off of a building than go to work. (Sorry for being graphic.)

I refrain from giving too many details about my consumption because:

#1. Some people compare themselves and determine that they don't have a problem (You don't have to have a drinking problem to quit drinking).

#2. Some people have tried to tell me I don't have a drinking problem, which is ludicrous (This has everything to do with them, not me!).

#3. Despite plastering my experience with addiction all over the internet and Instagram page, I'm a fairly private person and believe too much vulnerability is a form of self-abandonment.

Protecting myself has not always been my MO but now it is. There is a fine line with sharing my experience for others' benefit but I believe the importance of this outweighs my desire to keep up appearances. I tried keeping up appearances for a while... We all know how that turned out. I was a hot people-pleasing mess for most of my life. The most important thing is to remain true to myself. I want to share my experience, just not all of it, yet anyway.

When the wild swings of binge drinking took their toll and I settled into a more daily drinker vibe, the hangovers became like a sport. If I drink this much water in-between, don't forget to eat dinner, have this many after, stop by this time, leave an Ibuprophen 800 by my bedside table, have a Monster energy drink on deck, I won't be too hungover to human the next day.

This preservation went on for years. In-between these ritualistic methods, I would often overindulge, leaving my body feeling like a sarcophagus for my soul. I wanted to feel good, I was just trapped inside this stupid body that can't handle its booze. Who knew poisoning yourself was so painful!

Let me just throw this out there, if you are PRESERVING your drinking... You might have a drinking problem. My friend, I'm not here to tell you if you have a drinking problem. I just want to maybe leave this on your desk for you to circle back to... Just in case.

I didn't want anyone to take away my "precious". *Cue Gollum's voice* but it's just me clutching a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon screaming "iT's GoOd FoR yOuR hEaRt!" with wine-stained teeth.

This brings me to the title of this blog post. Despite being a mess, I've managed to work in an office setting since I was around 21 years old... Which brought on a multitude of challenges for a young budding alcoholic. This (along with a few other details which I will be keeping out) created weekend warrior syndrome. Work all week but come Friday I would be stomping around my house in knee-high high-heeled Timberland boots, clinging to my pre-game beverage, texting my taxi driver (I had one on speed dial, his name was Jordan, hi Jordan! I'm sober now! (he would think, "thank God")), and making plans with friends. Going into the weekend on Friday I may have felt semi-refreshed, coming out of the weekend on Monday, I had eye bags for days (at 21), had no money, could hardly keep my eyes open, and was coming back to reality. Why did other people look so refreshed? Why is Kelly in accounting so fucking annoying! Maybe there's something sweet to eat in the breakroom... I would gaze down the rows of cubicles looking for work besties that would be equally as disheveled so we could commiserate and maybe even sneak in a smoke break.

Rarely would I go all out on a weekday. Although I was a complete mess of a human at that point in my life, I did have bills to pay, barely enough money to get by (although I always had enough for drinks...), and underneath it all, I was trying to be a good person. It's complicated, okay?

A few years into my city drinking career, a lot had changed. I was married with kids by 24 years old and I had already started to reel it in. We went to breweries with babies strapped on our backs and looked down at people drinking cheap beer. If you drink fancy beers and then talk about how they taste, well, then you're not an alcoholic. Didn't you know this loophole? (Please realize I'm being sarcastic or we can't be friends.)

I even contemplated quitting drinking altogether since I seemed to be really bad at stopping when I started. Every time I said "I think I need to quit" I was met with "You're fine, just don't be so stupid next time" or "Just stop after one" (Every time someone says that I literally have to laugh out loud). You can't be an alcoholic in your early 20s okay, it's forbidden in this society.

One night, I found myself all alone on I think a Wednesday night. After drinking my bottle of pre-game Sauvignon Blanc, I stomped around my house with my knee-high black leather boots and headed out the door to meet Jordan who was there to pick me up. I just wanted to re-live my old "glory" days. I met up with a friend downtown and we hit up every bar we could think of. Dancing, laughing, getting way too drunk. By 2am in a drunken stupor a young Jenny thought to herself "What day is it?... Why do I feel like I have something to do tomorrow? Oh, LOOK! Two for the price of one burritos!!!" And proceeded to take a cab 5 miles out of the city for a burrito. Well, two burritos.

By the time I made it home, actually, I don't remember making it home, I'm not even going to pretend like I knew what time it was. It was, however, the next day already, I do know that. And as I woke up a few short hours later fully dressed on top of the covers and covered in tortilla chips, my alarm clock was blaring. My flailing arms lurched my mummified body forward flinging chips everywhere as I yelled "OH SHIT!" Remembering that I am indeed an adult and I have this thing called a job! Realizing my alarm has been going off for a while, I have absolutely no time for a shower. Now, you might be thinking, why don't you use discretionary time, or paid time off? First off, I live in the United States (let's just start with that), second, I was not the type of person who used their time conservatively at that point in my life. The only hope I had to keep my rent paid was to roll into work smelling like a night out and pray to God no one notices. As I hurdle myself down the stairs to my car, I pass the kitchen table, on that table was a white Styrofoam container. Two for one burrito! I had one burrito leftover, what a deal. I grabbed that sucker and was on my way. The good news was although it took me an hour to get home from work due to traffic, it only took me 15 minutes to get to work. Blaring music, drinking coffee, yes, I can do this!

Entering the workplace brought less welcoming feelings. There they were. All dressed nicely, looking no different than yesterday, not sweating profusely through their blouses. I ducked my head into my cubicle. Eight hours, I can do this!

My stomach rolled and my head pounded. The only way I would make it through was to force down water and to eat something… Something greasy... Something full of beans, onions, and cilantro. That burrito felt like my saving grace. As I rose from my cube to head towards the breakroom, I caught a whiff of myself and thought "I hope no one can smell me". I hit one minute on the microwave. After a few moments as the stench of onions and beans wafted my direction. Suddenly, I realized 8am might not be the most appropriate time to microwave this very fragrant food... In the office. Full of my well put together co-workers. Who mind you all seemed mature and none of them talked about drinking, like ever. I had no one to commiserate about the weekend with because none of them appeared to make drinking their hobby. They were into things like "family".

Shamefully I walked back to my desk and as I passed their cubical dwellings, one by one they turned to witness what was creating such a horrific odor. I felt the weight of their gazes and I knew how annoyed they were. I sat down in my cubical. My next-door cubemate, a 70-year-old man with crippling arthritis and a heart of gold (I loved him) popped his head in and said "Whatcha got there? A burrito?"

I doubt any of them will read this but if they do, I'd like to make amends on this office faux pas. Okay, maybe there's more to apologize for than the smelly burrito... Like how later I was fired for missing too much work and I let the team down. It was a great place to work and losing my job there haunted me for a while.

I wish I could say being this hungover at work was rare, it wasn't. How did we do it? How did we live our lives that hungover? I don't know.

I can tell you one thing is certain, I don't want to find out if I can do it again, ever.

Best Jen.