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I can pretend that I am Peter Pan — that by some luck of birth, I have been granted the gift of eternal adolescence alongside the rest of my generation. Here, in the Neverland I reside in, there is no such thing as a formal dress code, emoji is a legitimate language and paying in cash is retro. It knows the truth. The body feels the passing of time acutely, and pays no mind to demographic labels.
My mind might feel like a child spinning around in an office chair, but that means nothing to the body. And every so often it likes to remind me: Now, can we please focus! It does this in two ways. First, the ferocious menstrual pain, which my doctor is adamant will go away as soon as I have a child, and which I now read as a monthly punishment inflicted on me for childlessness.
And the second, is the adult hangover. Hell hath no fury like the adult hangover. Elders had sent word. Like Peter Pan, I was dismissive, and arrogant. But then it arrived.
First it stole my sleep, replacing a peaceful slumber with fitful snoozing, tossing and turning in the sheets like a hostage in a bag. Then came the headache, a pounding drumbeat that now can only be silenced with drugs.
The dream of a few pints after work and still having a clear head the next day are gone, dashed, as well as my other youthful dreams of a successful podcast series and secure housing. Of course, once the hangover has passed I forget it ever happened and go back to skipping through life and eating memes for breakfast. Until the alluring Aperol spritz pulls me in again, and bang! Topics Life and style Adult learner. Order by newest oldest recommendations.