I set goals for my weekend to prep for my week (which I did), to work on a book chapter (which I did), to run (which I did), to eat healthy (which I did) and to do laundry (which I did, but didn't put away).
But then Saturday night, I took what was supposed to be a two-hour break for a birthday party, but turned into an evening where I had to be driven home. I drink, but I don't DRINK. I'm a control freak and have been faulted for not relaxing enough and rarely taking a break. A drink with dinner, well...I can do that. But when a friend makes your dinner and keeps refilling your drink without you knowing it, and that drink has tequila, you lose your sense of self. More tragically, I lost my sense of responsibility.
I was told I danced a lot and did impressions of my niece in field band. I was told I talked a lot and didn't have the best use of language functions. I was told I had a great time and I was hysterical.
The thing is, I wasn't there. Well, I was. Late in the evening, the executive decision was made to have someone drive me home. I was okay with this, because I had no consciousness that the evening was even happening.
I woke up Sunday feeling fine, but with the epiphany I didn't accomplish all I set for my Saturday night agenda. Then I started receiving texts and apologies - inebriating Bryan was a goal of the party, I guess and they succeeded. They did allow me an evening to relax, but I wish I was around to experience it.
So, yesterday, I spent my day in extra guilt mode doing as much as I could to make up for time lost. It's frustrating, though, because I wanted Saturday night to plan out the action so I could finger tap the piano keyboard all day Sunday. Instead, I had to chisel at my intentions in the morning and write into the wee hours of last night.
Man, the price you pay for being sabotaged and living like the rest of America. Do I have regrets? Nope. But I really do wish I could have attended my own fiesta.