There are different theories about the sources of bad decisions. Some say it’s a lack of reason, others – the wrong timing. I have my own: the worst decisions come from a triangular arrangement involving sadness, alcohol, and the phone. Three characters that on their own may seem innocent, but together create something like an emotional mafia.
Sadness is the recruiter. It shows up first and says: “Come on, have a drink, it’ll feel lighter.” Alcohol is the motivation manager – it promises that now you’ll suddenly understand everything, feel courage, and write what you’ve had in your head all along. And the phone? The phone is the executor. It carries out orders instantly, mercilessly, and always too late.
And that’s how the most dangerous chemical mixture known to mankind is created: a text message sent at 2:37 a.m., starting with the words “We need to talk this through.” That never ends well. Because no one at 2:37 a.m. needs explanations – not your ex, not your current partner, not even yourself.
Alcohol has a nasty talent for dressing despair in the costume of honesty. You feel as if you’re suddenly speaking the truth – the deepest one you never had the courage to express. In practice, this means that in a message to your ex you use phrases like: “fate didn’t bring us together for no reason” or “let’s give ourselves one more chance.” As if fate really had anything to do with the fact that you share a Netflix account.
The phone, unfortunately, has no built-in brake. It doesn’t ask: “Are you sure you want to send this confession?” It just obediently sends it on, and only in the morning do you discover that you wrote who knows what – an epic about love, guilt, and destiny, interwoven with emojis that were meant to be moving, but look like the script of a meme.
The world would be a much better place if phones had a “Sadness + Alcohol Mode.” You switch to this mode, the screen goes black, and the only things you can do are call a taxi or order water with lemon. Any attempt to send a message would be blocked by a built-in Turbo Analyzer:
– “Want to write that you miss her? Statistically, in 99% of cases you’ll regret it tomorrow.”
– “Want to call your ex? The system doesn’t allow it. Try again in the next life.”
But technology failed. We don’t have a Turbo Analyzer. We only have ourselves, sadness, alcohol, and the phone – a gang that, once it gathers, always ends up the same way. You explain, justify, beg her to give you one more chance. And in the morning, in the light of day, not only do you not get a chance – you also get a hangover, a double one at that.
Because an emotional hangover hurts a hundred times more than the one from wine.