Wicked Hung-ovah

I cannot party like I did when I was 25. Hell, I can't even party like I did when I was 30. Oh, who am I kidding? I can't party at all anymore. I can sit quietly and have a few cocktails, but even then I have to be careful.

Since thousands of people were filling the streets all over the country yesterday, we had kind of a busy day at work. So last night I decided to unwind with exactly one drink at Favorite Bar. The end of that last sentence would be what's commonly referred to as famous last words. A friend I hadn't seen in months was also there providing entertainment from his collection of 78 rpm records (yes, 78's), and I ended up chatting extensively with him. So three hours and four beers later, I pulled myself off my barstool and went home.

Everything was fine until today. To my credit, I managed to go running before work. And for the record, I usually find exercise to be an excellent hangover antidote. Not so much this time. At about 2:00 this afternoon I succumbed to my fuzzy-headed fatigue and completely lost focus. Everything began to move in slow motion, making the last four hours of work seem like about four days. It didn't help matters that after work tonight I was committed to participate in a playwriting workshop where I read scenes aloud so the writers could hear their work. I'm sure they all loved how well my hungover self brought their characters to life.

All this because of only four beers over three hours. I become more and more of a lightweight as I get older. But now I'm back home, and all is well. I've been reunited with my couch, and I'm about to have some chocolate chip waffles. Perfect hangover food in my opinion. And since it's now my work weekend, I can sleep as late I want tomorrow. Gotta love that.