Tag: lifestyle

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The Social Hangover: Why One Family Gathering = Three Business Days of Recovery

JoLeave a comment

I did a thing.

I put on jeans. Yes, actual denim. Not “leggings that whisper about being pants if you squint hard enough.” Real jeans. Then, because apparently I like to cosplay as a functioning human, I added makeup. First time in two years. Even did my hair. Honestly, I could’ve stopped there and deserved a medal.

But no, I had a mission: drive three hours each way to see my sister, hand-deliver the painstakingly perfected gifts I’d been working on for weeks, and socialize with more humans than my hermit soul has encountered in… possibly a decade for my sister and grand niece.

Let me tell you, the event itself? Lovely. The invite? Appreciated. The people? Wonderful. The food? Chef’s kiss. My energy afterward? Dead. Buried. Ghosted.

Here’s the unglamorous math nobody tells you:

  • Prep time: two weeks of stressing, shopping, and crafting gifts.
  • Cosmetic upgrades: one hour to transform into “someone who looks like she has her life together.”
  • Event length: six hours in the car, plus a full day of interaction.
  • Recovery time: estimated three to five business days, maybe longer. Please hold.

Today, I’m the human equivalent of a phone stuck on 2% battery with a broken charger. Hollow, sluggish, vaguely resentful at the concept of standing upright. And yet… this is the price of admission when you leave your cave.

So if you’re also lying in bed after “a fun day,” wondering why your body feels like you ran a marathon while juggling flaming swords, let me reassure you: you didn’t imagine it. Social hangovers are real. Spoon debt is brutal. Jeans are a weapon of mass destruction.

Recovery Day Survival Tips (a.k.a. How to Human Again After Too Much Humaning)

  • Hydrate like it’s your new religion. You just sweated out three weeks’ worth of electrolytes socializing.
  • Eat something that doesn’t come in a crinkly wrapper. (No shame if it does, but bonus points for real nutrients.)
  • Lay flat. On the bed, the couch, or the floor — whatever’s closest when you collapse.
  • Noise-cancel the world. Earplugs, headphones, or just a dramatic blanket burrito.
  • Cancel productivity. Laundry and dishes can wait. Your nervous system cannot.
  • Gentle motion only. Stretching, slow walks, or the ceremonial shuffle to the fridge.
  • Remember: jeans are optional for the rest of your life.


Tomorrow I’ll probably be fine(ish). But today? Today is about recovery, snacks, and swearing off denim forever. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other.

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Mi Vida Loca (My Crazy Life)

JoLeave a comment

Why My ‘Organized Chaos’ Is Actually a Master Plan (And No, I Don’t Know Where the Plan Is)
Listen up, you neurotypicals and neat freaks. You might look at my desk and think a tornado had a love child with a paper factory, but let me tell you, there’s a method to this madness. Welcome to my world, where ‘organized chaos’ isn’t just a fancy way of saying “I’m a mess” – it’s a damn lifestyle.

The Art of Controlled Chaos
To the untrained eye, my workspace looks like a dumpster fire had a baby with a thrift store explosion. But let me assure you, there’s a system here. It’s like a game of 3D chess, except I’m playing against myself, and I’ve lost the rulebook.

  1. The Pile-Em-Up Principle

In my world, piles aren’t just messy heaps; they’re fucking archaeological digs waiting to happen. Each pile is a time capsule of procrastination and good intentions. The pile on the left? That’s shit I meant to file last year. The middle pile? That’s where dreams go to die. And the pile on the right? That’s where I put things that have mysteriously appeared from the ADHD void and will eventually be sorted by sheer dumb luck or divine intervention.

  1. The Lost-and-Found Game

Finding anything in my ‘organized chaos’ is like playing a twisted version of Where’s Waldo, except Waldo is that one crucial document I need for a meeting in five minutes. The rules are simple: if it’s important, it’s lost. The thrill is in the panic-induced search, unearthing long-lost treasures like that one sock I’ve been missing since Obama was president.

  1. The Mysterious Filing System

I don’t have a filing cabinet; I have a “file-ninja” system. Documents should appear where you least expect them – like in the fridge, under the cat, or in last year’s Halloween costume. It’s designed to keep you on your toes and ensure that you never, ever know where anything is. It’s the ultimate test of memory and how long you can go without having a meltdown.

  1. The Calendar Conundrum

My calendar is a masterpiece of chaos theory. It’s a tapestry of sticky notes, cryptic symbols, and reminders that might as well be written in ancient Sumerian. I have a color-coding system that makes perfect sense… when I’m high on caffeine at 3 AM.

  1. The Perpetual ‘To-Do’ List

My ‘To-Do’ list is longer than the credits of a Marvel movie and just as never-ending. It’s less a list and more a chronicle of good intentions and abandoned dreams. Some items have been on there so long they’ve developed sentience and are plotting a rebellion.

The Illusion of Control
Despite the seeming disorder, there’s a comforting illusion that I’ve got my shit together. Each misplaced item and chaotic pile is part of a grander scheme that only I can truly understand – mostly because I made it up as I went along.

Conclusion: Embracing the Clusterfuck
So there you have it: my ‘organized chaos’ is actually a master plan, a dazzling display of ADHD ingenuity. It might look like a disaster zone to the casual observer, but it’s a carefully curated mess that ensures I’m always engaged in the thrilling game of “Where The Fuck Did I Put That Thing?”

Next time someone looks at your desk and asks, “Isn’t that a bit messy?” just smile and say, “Oh, you mean my master plan? It’s a fucking work of art!” After all, in the world of ADHD, the real masterpiece is finding joy in the journey of organized chaos – and occasionally finding that one thing you’ve been looking for for three months.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go reorganize my piles. Or maybe take a nap. Whichever I get distracted by first. (Its nap, its always nap). Take care of yourself gang, and each other.