I had to catch a taxi to work this morning because I met some friends for drinks at 3:00 yesterday arvo and somehow didn’t make it home til midnight, sensibly leaving my car down the street. I got in the cab today feeling all kinds of miserable because my head hurt, not so much with the effects of the copious amounts of wine I’d accidentally consumed the night before, but because I couldn’t remember whole chunks of conversations, and the bits I did remember were just downright embarrassing. And I was sick, and at some point I know I was in tears as well. Never a good look.

I just sat there, mute, frantically trying to piece together the fragments of the evening and hoping that the drunken phone calls I’d made to my boy would be viewed today as endearing rather than psychotic (they were – phew!) but I didn’t have long to ponder as the taxi driver was obviously a morning person and hadn’t spent his Sunday night getting pissed like I had.

He was lovely, actually, and quite the chatty chauffeur. I got into that car feeling all kinds of shite, all miserable and tired and embarrassed and grrrrr but his peppy conversation distracted me and cheered me right up. As I hopped out I wished him a good day and he said ‘oh love, every day is a good day – as long as you’re above ground I reckon you’re doing ok’. It was such a simple comment and on any other day I probably wouldn’t have taken much notice of it, but I all of a sudden I regained my perspective. It was one night. I didn’t hurt anyone (only my liver. and my pride) and given that I’m usually ridiculously sensible, too sensible at times really, I reckon I’m gonna stop being so hard on myself and allow myself this one.

Agathie Christie said

I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable,
but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive
is a grand thing

And she was right.

Everything passes. Even the embarrassing recollections of drunken stupidity.

I hope.