I have this hypothesis I’ve been working on for the last five years or so. It’s subject: the coloration between the level of my New Years Eve drunkenness to the following year’s overall enjoyability.
It’s been pretty consistent thus far. The years where I’ve partied hard on the eve have been fun and exciting. Years where I have remained restrained have them, themselves, seemed restrained and less fruitful.
Last New Year’s Eve found us in bed before midnight for the first time in my adulthood. I set the alarm on my phone to wake us at midnight for a kiss and to say we hadn’t missed it. It worked. We didn’t miss it, we kissed, and slipped gently back into slumber.
For me, this year has been like any other Saturday morning for a partier where you decided to stay in on Friday night. Sure, it was productive. You got everything on your list accomplished and you feel pretty good about it. Alas, it also wasn’t as much fun – overall – as if you’d simply gone out for a little while, been good about it, returned home at a decent hour and, say…accomplished 50% of your Saturday task list.
We shall see where Next Year’s Eve takes things. I’m not really drinking now, so it looks like it’ll be another year of production and muted flamboyance. Not sure if that bothers me though. Sure beats getting plastered and beginning the weekend…and year…filled with regret.