This week I behaved like a 19-year-old college student, sleeping four hours a night and going out for wild drinking binges with the guys nearly every single night. It’s a bit different now than it was in college, though (as it always is), since I actually have a job that requires focus and attention and my presence five days a week. It’s not like I can skip work the way I might skip a class. I also don’t have access to a dining hall where people cook and do my food shopping for me, so I’ve been languishing on a diet of diner and bar food and cold pizza for breakfast.
I will say that it has been fun. I’m not going to lie. We’ve been out partying with friends from yore, family we don’t see often enough, and people we see all the time yet never enough. We have danced and joked around and cursed the fact that McSorley’s Pub closes at 2am! And that Yogi’s is not just closed, but completely demolished! The city’s great dives are making way for expensive high-rise apartment buildings, and that just makes me sad. I want to buy a house near swampland in the south with rickety walls and sprawling grounds so we can hire a DJ (I’m looking at you, Caprice) to blast the tunes while we sit in our rocking chairs on the porch drinking Corona. The luxury high-rise life is not for me.
We leave for our honeymoon in less than a week, and all I can say is my body is really craving that chaise lounger by the pool and the powdery white sand on the beach. This week will be more of the same, I think. My work calendar is packed solid and my social calendar is following suit, and I’m thinking whether I’m 19 or 29 is really moot at this point; I’m going all out and the only thing that’s going to stop me is jail or death. This one’s for all the bananas.