Woke up this morning without a hangover, the first Sunday in a long time that that’s happened. I have to thank my previous self of last night for not giving into the urge to just go drown myself in oat sodas, which the idea was on my mind for a good few hours in the evening there as I watched the clock count down until 9PM and the local convenience store closed down for the night. After that, I’d have to drive to 7/11 into town in the opposite direction. That situation also usually ends in fast food, a pile of burgers and onion rings and soybean oil, so double-down on the unhealthiness of it. It’s no wonder that I would wake up, groggy as fuck, splitting headache, fat belly, lions and hyenas in the stomach, depressed, with no motivation and no drive and no desire to ever try to improve (at least until I got some sleep and the fucking chainsaws in my head stopped).
Years ago I told myself I’d be grateful to my past and future self when I came across the moments to do so. I’ve found a couple here and there when I remembered to, but this facet of self-care never took off much for me. But, when I remembered to do it, to actually be thankful to my past self for not fucking over my future self, things felt good. Accomplished. Encouraged.
Thank you, past self of last night, for not going and getting shitfaced like you wanted to. I realize it felt like the only thing applicable for the nighttime hours when darkness surrounds, but the more you don’t give into that little childish voice, the more that voice will shrink back into the depths where he belongs and he’ll go back to not saying peep.