Yesterday, after laying in bed for several hours, hungover and trying to muster the strength to do the dishes I noticed the back of my head kind of hurt. As it turns out, buried deep in my mangled sex hair, were three bobby pins that I didn’t even know I was still wearing. I sat there for a second looking at the bobby pins and thought, Jesus Christ, Michelle. You turn 25 in less than 10 days. It’s time to get your shit together.
This morning, I broke my toe. Just the little one. It doesn’t really hurt, but is purple and sad looking. I broke it because I ran into a doorway. I ran into a doorway because I fell over a misplaced shoe. As I watched the toe start to turn purple and felt the throb of cracked bones, I once again thought, I have GOT to get my shit together. Why can’t I EVER clean my room?
I am not sure if some sort of biological clock is kicking in, but drinking whiskey and hooking up, while it is fun, is not the exact type of life I want to continue leading. I don’t want to spend a beautiful Sunday hungover and tired because I got home at 330 in the morning, unable to do any of the important things I planned for the day.
Margaritas on a wednesday night? Probably not the best idea.
I love my life in NYC. I love my friends. But I have spent too many summers being wild and not caring about how my decisions would effect me later. I want to do all the things I always say I am going to do, and stop getting side tracked by laziness.
It’s time. It’s time to keeping being fun, and having fun but finding fun in other things besides a late saturday night.
Like maybe joke trying out for the Brooklynettes?
Don’t worry though, I’ll never give up karaoke.