I feel like I've just gone water skiing.

Only I feel as if instead of skiing on water, it was on asphalt.

And instead of skis, I feel like I used my forehead.

I could write some little blurb about a character waking up next to an incredibly cheap bottle of wine and only one glass. It would be misleading, but it would help explain the dingy film smeared all over this morning.

There isn't much dignity left to salvage after a person has thrown up in their friend's sink.

The best option available to me at the moment is to trek the 1/2 mile from Joey and Meg's apartment to my own, consume a giant bowl of applesauce, and then attempt to peel my contact lenses off of my eyeballs without also removing my corneas.

I find it ironic that I'm awake at 8:30 (earlier than I have been all week), because I've been drinking. And I feel very awake. Maybe I'm like Bender from Futurama and beer powers my fuel cells.

I doubt it.

In my almost very nearly so close to three months of not drinking, I've gotten a little soft. I'm very used to waking up and not feeling like I wandered into a herd of rhinoceroses.

It is a good thing for me that rhinos love applesauce as well.

But they don't love a Merlot so bottom-shelf that you have to pronounce the "t" at the end.

Neither does Joey's sink.

Eck. What is that thing outside? Is that...the sun?

It's going to be a long day. But if there is some moral here about not binge-drinking on a Monday night, I imagine that I'll stumble over it several times before my day is done.

I'll probably be good for a while. As I said, I'm not used to feeling terrible anymore.

I'd write some conclusion here, but now that I think about it, I may have to utilize the sink again.

I guess I'm not as young as I used to be.