One of my favourite memories from my time at uni is a reoccurring one: I’d wake up, send a text to my best friend ‘are you alive? can i come?', wait for her reply and painfully walk to her flat. I’d climb the Everest-like flight of stairs and knock on her door, out of breath, trying to hold myself together. The recipe of the morning after an epic night in town.
I can close my eyes and picture her welcoming me - messy bun, purple crocs and fluffy socks, wearing a grey tracksuit and a vintage washed-out red jumper - as if it was yesterday. We would sit all day and do nothing but eat, watch Friends and attempt to puzzle together our memories from the night before. Memories that we would cringe, laugh, and wonder about, the best ones are the ones you remember in a sudden stroke of light: is that where the mystery bruise comes from? Remembering how we brilliantly saved 1€50 on a 4€ entrance ticket by arriving early, drinking beers in the bus and to be later hidden in a bush - every cents count.
Building a common memory from two separate brains. Sometimes those mornings would evolve and we would slowly make our way to our usual bar and start all over again. Mornings turn into nights and nights turn into mornings.
Then there are the mornings of nights you wished to forget, of hangxiety fueled by alcohol-induced arguments. Things you wished you never said, never done, mascara smeared under your eyes, black tears on the cheeks. Nauseous mornings in the train, car, plane looking forward to being home and ordering the crappiest, greasiest food possible to fight your upside-down stomach. Those are the times you swear you’ll never drink ever again and what a waste of money it was, until next time. It is an inevitability.
Better focusing on the mornings waking up slightly tipsy and in the mood to celebrate again, the new day ahead and the promise of the night to come. The mornings coming before the night ends, making eggs, coffee and a side of beer. Realising the sun is rising and all -or most- of your friends are still standing. Dancing. Running, late to a class, a train, late to bed. If you’re lucky like me, those are most of the mornings.
Unlike the weather, I will do a dry January. The last couple of months have been a party, filled with good times and very little ‘never again’ - none actually. But it’s always good to make a reset, know the limit, look outside and truly consider if you want to get out in the pouring rain. I’m already looking forward to the next morning after, building common memories.