Thursday, 15 January 2015

The Hump

Yep.... in a bath with strongbow. And what?
According to the Oxford Dictionary (lah-dee-dahhh) 'hump' as a noun is defined as 'A rounded raised mass of earth or land,' or as a a rounded protuberance found on the back of a camel or other animal or as an abnormality on the back of a person. Concurrently, Urban Dictionary (much more reputation), defines it (as a verb) meaning 'to grind one's genitalia in a press-and-release pattern against a particular object or surface; usually associated with an inanimate object.'

The 'hump' of this title refers to neither of these.... (sorry people, it wouldn't be the first time I've been accused of being a tease..) but instead to the metaphorical convex, one denoting being half way through a process, but at the same time, the point where you find yourself in a  strop, or state of downheartedness. Think of all those times you've heard the words 'Happy Hump Day Bitches' on a wednesday to celebrate the fact that you are halfway through the working week, or when its 'no don't invite Tarquin, last time we did did he got in a hump when he fell for our joke that it was a Sluts and Robbers party, and he turned up in a white-and-black striped slutty bunny costume.' Let's be honest, Tarquin was always a bit of a cunt anyway.

Its day 15, and I am in a hump, on the hump, of my dry January experience. Yes, yes, I should be canonised any day now (I frickin' wish... I'm pretty sure I still can't enter a church for fear of being instantly struck down by Him up above) but I now find myself ready for a cider. Or five. Or twenty five. I'm pretty convinced that if I went on a night out now (mmmm night out...) then there would be no naked walk home across Waterloo bridge, nor directing traffic in Pimlico, nor being woken up in a well-known central London posh burger establishment by the chef at 7am not knowing how I got in after the staff had locked up and left at midnight. No no, I got this, I'll be good I promise.
Waking up to this bad boy..... 

It's my work Christmas party tomorrow night. It will be an evening of good hearted revelry  at no financial cost as everything is paid for, an evening where everyone celebrates how hard they have worked over the last year, and where everyone has the best time and wakes up the next day loving their jobs, loving their colleagues, and having no desire or need to spend the next day reacquainting their face with the toilet bowl (.... to date, my most meaningful relationship <3). 

Clearly I have just described the work place christmas party that no-one has ever experiences. Where there is booze (let alone 'free booze') there is guaranteed to be mess.
It's the moment you tell a colleague that actually you just don't like them, and that you don't actually need a reason because you know your own mind, and your own mind just says that they are a dick. Its that 5 minute conversation you have with your director and can't remember the next day. Its that hazy 10 minute grope in a corner of a darkened room (dear lord, you hope in hindsight the room was dark) with either Johnny or Jack, or Stacey / Sarah ?, and you just don't quite know who it was.. 

I know I am coming late to the proverbial christmas party - most of you will have had yours a month ago, and are lucky that all will have been lost now in the deluge of December nights out/parties, and talk of what happened may have died down. I work for a company that was really busy throughout December that thus we have our party in January... a month when no-one has any money to go out, leaving tomorrow night as a beacon of shame in a month where office gossip has been scarce..

As much as I would very like to take advantage of the free booze, I know its for the best that I don't. Have you ever used the punchline 'erm, mate, the all-you-can-eat buffet is an offer, not a challenge?!' ? I am the person who get's their money worth from the buffet... the person who stashes a secret supply (not so secret when you find yourself carrying 4 bottles of beer at one, and swaying heavily from side to side) in case the offering runs out - 'insurance.' But why? Thinking about it, there is no logical reason to do so other than 'when this beer runs out, I want to make sure I have beer 2,3,4 secured. For a while, I spent nights out behaving myself until 2am, only to enter my 'power hour' until 3am because I recognised that I wasn't drunk enough, and the bar closed at 3, and I couldn't be having a good time unless I *was* drunk enough. Drunk enough to do what exactly? Pass out on the Strand waiting for a bus? Wake up in someone's bed the next day not knowing their name?
Oh. fuck. yes.

And so I remain sober, and live to shame myself another day. Tomorrow, the day of the party, is day 16, and I will be 'over the hump' and over half way through to the end of January. Have I noticed much difference in being sober? After two weeks I have much more energy. I make better dietary choices (although I did have a sober kebab the other night - fucking sue me). I don't get so easily flustered at work, I am less likely to snap, or become a frazzled mess who is unable to utter a coherent sentence due to exhaustion and stress. In short, yes, I feel the difference. I also feel myself drifting away from being completely alcohol/fun/wild/crazy - centric in the image I create for myself, and purport to others. 

After 10 years of bringing the crazy, boundary-less, sleep-when-im-dead, who-the-fuck-are-you-anyway? to the party, I'm looking forward to not having to brave the shuffle of shame into work on Monday. Its exhausting (please try it if you don't believe me) having to keep your eyes down, focus on the computer monitor in front of you, but keeping perched on the edge of your seat ready to slip below the desk in case anyone mentions the state you got yourself into the other night. 

And so, tomorrow night, I'm going to have fun. No, wait. I'm going to have the best time. I am going to be the life and soul of that party. I am going to wake up on Saturday having loved life, loved the people I work with, had the best time, and not having thrown up or got naked in the process of doing any of those things. 

Watch this space.

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