Well, it’s the second weekend in a row that I’ve spent my day of rest recovering from reckless consumption of rosé.

It’s an ugly kind of hangover that feels leaves you with the faint stinging sensation of regret that festers in the pit of your stomach like an old nectarine rotting in the bottom of a fruit crisper. It’s a rancid, squishy feeling that is all kinds of unsettling. Aside from the overwhelming need to lie down, gives you the feeling as if you’ve wasted your day, derailed your life and set yourself on course for ruin. Looking at the world through rosé coloured glasses is the most unflattering of filters, casting the harshest of lights on reality and covering everything in a murky film that would stain a dishcloth.

Now, given my constant state of being and the fact that I’m about to put a new fridge on my credit card (a call out for a fridge sponsor on Instagram was rudely ignored and I can no longer exist with an insulated wardrobe as a refrigerator), it usually doesn’t take a couple of litres of pink wine to give me this feeling. I can get there all on my own. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s extracting the depressing details out of a situation of ruminate on, swilling them around my brain like the clumps of warm dairy swirling around at the bottom of my teacup.

But I’m trying to be more positive. And by that I mean, I’m not actually going to be positive, but will attempt to be less negative.  And by that I mean that I am at least aiming to keep my negativity down to a nice, mild level– just enough to be amusing but not too much to be concerning.

You see, I just watched two episodes of Simply Nigella, which was exactly what I needed while nursing a sore head and lugging around a cinder-block-heavy heart weighted by the news of the great Anthony Bourdain’s death. Her voice is like a hug. Something in the way she does things tells you you’re not a piece of shit in a way that you actually believe it. Somehow, watching her crush up Cornflakes with her hands or peeling ginger with a spoon reminds me to be a little kinder to myself.

So I’m looking back at my day with a softer gaze.

Yes, I may have had chocolate cake and two-and-a-half teaspoons of Big Mac sauce for lunch. I may have caused irreparable damage to the lino in the kitchen trying to get a look at our broken fridge. And I frivolously spent forty still-one-week-until-pay-day dollars on an unhealthy amount of Mexican takeaway for dinner. But sometimes these things happen.

Sometimes, you do need that second Tim Tam after 10pm. Some mornings, you’re going to wake up with mascara smeared on your pillow. And some afternoons you’re just really not up to going to that rock climbing gym you said you’d go to.

There’s always tomorrow… especially when that tomorrow is a public holiday, which you can use to put your life back together.