Words and things, mostly words.
Last night, I celebrated at my company’s employee Christmas party. Things mostly went well, though these events always end up involving most of us consuming copious amounts of alcohol — far in excess of any amount one might consider ‘reasonable.’
The good news: I didn’t do or say anything stupid or embarrassing in front of my co-workers, and I managed to get home safely despite having no working memory from 12:30pm (when they closed down the bar) onward.
The bad news: I got to spend time cleaning red wine and vomit out of my basement carpet and bathroom. I also may have permanently stained a dress shirt, and will have to talk to a dry cleaner about how a guy who looks a lot like me puked on my tie and it smells now.
I don’t drink nearly as much as I used to; a few years ago, I could down 3/4 of a litre of vodka in an evening and I’d maybe feel a little sluggish the next day. A combination of the tyranny of aging and the fact I’ve cut my drinking back to a couple of beer over the weekend meant I was ill-prepared to handle the night’s debauchery.
It could have ended better, but it also could have gone a lot worse so I am going to call it a draw and reflect on the fact that the parts of the party I remember were quite enjoyable.