Merinov, as always, offers a humorous image. He has a knack for knowing how to handle a drink.
A New Year scene unfolds. Demons dislike it just as much as everyone else does.
The door creaks and opens. From a stack of empty bottles, an uncle steps out of a cupboard. Green devils shout, “Every day, every day, here we go!” and flee the celebration in fear. The devil returns already, as if nothing happened.
The New Year’s Eve fatigue hits hard. The holidays drain energy, leaving one moody and exhausted. Once the celebrations end, slipping back into the daily routine often feels like a high-stakes act of balance. Why is that?
Post-holiday effects appear as sleep disturbance, shifts in appetite, and a disrupted circadian rhythm. The body resists abrupt changes, especially when alcohol is involved. Fatty, smoked, and salty foods pile up, and even protein in excess can upset nitrogen balance.
Re-adjustment is necessary, and stress follows. Mood dips, focus falters, and ordinary tasks feel monumental. The scene may look clean on the surface, but it hides weariness and confusion.
It’s not merely about intoxication. Perhaps the opposite is true. Like children waiting for the first hours of the New Year, anticipation builds—then dawn arrives and everything feels unfamiliar and heavy. The first morning of the year brings a feeling of strangeness, as if a new entity has entered life. Words stumble; simple tasks such as tying shoelaces require real effort. Yet there is a stubborn sense of purpose. There is still a sense of choosing to keep going, even when every motion hurts. A person with a heavy hangover concentrates inward, testing the limits of endurance and resilience. The mind fights to stay upright while the body remains tense, and the moment passes with a stubborn breath and a slow rise to face the day.
From this perspective, the hangover becomes a kind of existential test. The body feels the strain, and the mind wonders whether it is a sign of something larger. Russian prose of the 20th and 21st centuries often paints a hero standing in this vulnerable space. In these moments, the world seems to demand attention, not distraction. The phone may ring and ask what is happening, and the honest answer is simply, “I am unwell.” Or, “I am recovering.” Or, a candid lie about the sequence of drinks may be offered, with a knowing smile from the other end of the line. A lingering truth remains: a hangover, though painful, can mark a kind of restart. It does not define the entire life, but it does remind that the body needs time to reset.
That said, this is not a sign of depression. It brings a sense of what people call post-holiday syndrome, a temporary pause in momentum.
There’s a gentle rocking inside the body, like a cradle swaying with the day. Endorphins surge from festive meals and gifts, and then they fade. The absence of those moments leaves a drop in mood and energy.
Before the year began, small duties felt manageable. Afterward, even pleasant chores can seem overwhelming. The body responds with a mix of tension and relief, and a lingering sense of guilt can follow a period of idleness. The human machine leans toward action or rest; there is little middle ground. Cats know this rhythm well, retreating to sleep when the world grows heavy.
A psychotherapist once noted that depression can be a disruption of rhythm rather than a cause. The idea stuck. A healthy routine offers structure, keeps misgivings at bay, and lowers the risk of slipping into emptiness. It is a reminder that the pattern matters more than the single action.
Lack of a steady routine can amplify a sense of depression, a warning sign that life needs balance rather than constant motion alone.
One day, a reader admits it took a long moment to name a favorite literary hero. Oblomov rises, as it often does, above many names from childhood memories.
And yet there are many energetic people worthy of admiration. Watching their success on social feeds can be exhausting, a strain on the eyes from scrolling. For someone who has spent long hours pursuing destiny, watching constant activity can feel like a distant, almost alien spectacle. The drive to stay busy can seem to mask deeper concerns, and the urge to act may not fully address the inner problems at hand.
That might be the hardest part of the post-holiday period. The year sprinted by, and the familiar defense mechanisms faltered. The new year arrives with a lack of reassurance, leaving some to feel equally behind as the rest.
And then the search for reasons behind low spirits and the vanished celebration mood begins anew. January 10 arrives, and the task is to re-enter daily life that feels almost alien now. The climate shifts between Moscow’s chill and Europe’s warmth, and the body negotiates the cold with a mix of stubborn resilience and cautious comfort. The street remains cold, and the indoor air seems sharp, almost suffocating. Still, there is a sense of moving forward, even if the progress is slow and halting. An encounter with an unfamiliar woman leaves a sense of misdirection about missing documents and a reminder that plans can unravel in an instant.
After the holidays, attention narrows and focus falters. The feel of winter intensifies, and everyday tasks like driving carry a new weight. Yet there is a simple love for the real winter—the kind that sharpens the senses and makes everything feel more tangible. The old images of a severe frost and bundled children return, a reminder of how weather frames daily life. A walk through a familiar street offers a tale of small misdirections and moments of patience learned through practice. An observer might note that those who claim to know the world sometimes overlook the small details that matter most.
The clock’s numbers sometimes seem unreliable, turning minutes into puzzles. Counting becomes a task of patience and persistence, a minor battle that ends with a small sense of achievement. The habit of counting is a reminder to slow down and count what truly matters.
Ultimately, the belief is that people should rest after a vacation. The rhythm must be rebuilt, slowly and surely.
A routine briefing at work captures the mood: the next few days feel like a retreat as people recover. The plan sketches a gentle balance between work and rest, avoiding the trap of endless striving. Questions arise about the week ahead, inviting practical answers rather than grand promises.
A hand rises from the audience with a single question about when the hold of this routine will end. The reply remains unsaid, but the suggestion is clear: step away from the noise and seek personal truth rather than chasing surface activity.
In the end, the narrator stays practical and grounded, choosing to move forward without clinging to the hype of external noise. The message is simple: give space to what truly matters, and let one’s own pace guide the path forward.
The author’s views reflect a personal stance that may differ from editorial positions.