Friday night I went out dancing and stayed up most of the night. My leg and senses paid for it. At 32, it takes a day or two for me to recover from any type of debauchery. In my twenties, I ran around Detroit most nights of the week and bounced back rather quickly. Or at least I like to look back and think I did. In retrospect, my depression and anxiety was often untreated. The mix of the two resulted in an odd concoction of melancholy and mania. I didn’t want to be alone but I couldn’t sit still. I found myself at techno party after techno party, after hours, and people’s houses until the sun rose.
Today I’ll be working on two short stories, one I hope to post by this afternoon. I feel a small disconnect from writing this morning; however, I’m going to push through and get these ideas actualized. Hopefully as I move forward, the weekends won’t be dedicated to recovery and Netflix binges 100% of the time. Oye. *sips coffee*