The weekends, at least from my experience, feels a lot like the proverbial sugar rush.
Yes, that infernal product of nature. An occurrence that have adults who have the delightful misfortune of being responsible for walking weapons of mass destruction, otherwise known as children, cowering in sweet, sugary fear. Fortunately, Mother Nature still believes in balance. As if in answer to the lamentations of a million mothers, fathers and nannies, the sugar crash came into being, and all was good.
Overdramatization of glucose-related biochemistry aside, the weekend prior to today's post fits that description appropriately, if only in a metaphorical manner. The alcohol-charged euphoria was further heightened in the company of old, familiar faces, as well as a new breed of companions who's life stories remain sealed and untapped thanks to the limits of social interaction placed upon by everyone's dreadful enemy: time. Suffice to say, a resilient sphere of invincibility shrouded those basking in revelry, wherein tomorrow was just so distant that if felt non-existent.
And then, it was over.
While the forging of new bonds may or may not have happened, opportunities of expanding the social circle were present and were perhaps capitalized, the reality is that the weekdays has reared it's ugly head, significantly destroying the buzz that plucked many away from their comfort zones. A better understanding or appreciation of fellows who, once mere denizens haunting the area adjacent to the sacred workstation, are slowly realized. Still, that does not take away the crushing despair that the night (or nights) of careless frolicking and inebriation are over. Normalcy has never looked so dreadful, and sleep, has never felt so enticing.
I ask myself, would I ever do something like that again despite the painful crash back into mundane reality?
HELL.
YES.
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