Hangovers are a form of necessary punishment that prevents every kind of mistake one makes during late-night drinking binges: the wasted money, the gained weight, the lost wallets and all those horrific text messages. When you wake to a rested, painless body, after a hedonistic night, a lesson is not learned. For months, I’ve been without the searing pain in the back of my head to remind me that I shouldn’t spend my entire paycheck on whiskey chased with cigarettes.
Free from the act of jumping out of my bed to remove the contents of my stomach while tripping over my own feet, I’ve denied myself the precious boundaries that keep me from making the same mistakes again. Sure, you could argue that I’ll head back to the bar either way, but there’s just something unsettling about consistently repeating your mistakes without consequences.
Hangovers give me a reason to take a break from excessive drinking. They teach me to not be such an idiot—and I think we should value our teachers more in this country. They are like the harsh winter that makes you appreciate the glorious summer. They are the Yin to the Yang. Without hangovers or you’re nothing more than a spoiled jerk who never learns his lesson.
Am I looking forward to my next hangover? Certainly not. I’m a strict emetophobe and, actually, kind of a wimp in general. However, this is a solid opportunity to control and moderate my drinking and learn how to actually enjoy a night out without drinking my weight in beer. Whoa! Restraint! Isn’t that a novel idea?
Jeremy Glass is the Vice editor for Supercompressor and usually blames all of his problems on his Percodan addiction—that stuff rots your brain.