Cocktail of Doom

Yesterday, I wrote that wallowing in a onesie makes me miserable. Though it's common to drift around between Christmas and New Year, said drifting makes me miserable. I've realised this year—properly fully realised—that if I'm not careful, I serve myself a Cocktail of Doom: a splash of drifting, a mixer of lonely, with the cherry topper of seasonal sadness (being childless comes home to roost at this time of year).

So I put my pet theory to the test and I'm happy to report that as long as I tick a few boxes (a little bit of studying, half an hour of work reading, turning the Airbnb rooms around), I feel better.

Is this dopamine at work? Is this what people like Andrew Huberman refer to as a dopamine hack? Or is it dopamine stack? Hack or stack. Who cares? It doesn't matter. All that matters is that I hit upon a theory, I tested it and whilst I'm not exactly dancing down the fruit and veg aisle at Asda, I do feel healthier.

So here's to dopamine. To setting the alarm and getting on with stuff. Here's to an enlightened 2025.

Bear Hugs, Big Licks and Sniffs.

Julia Savory and Georgia The Wonder Dog