Over-hanging

I was reclining here watching a DVD when I became aware of a strange roaring sound. It took a couple of seconds before I realised that it was the sound of rain on the roof. I'm very, very pleased that I don't have to get up horribly early to walk down into the the city to get a bus. My Pretty Lady has offered to come and pick me up in the morning...for the first day of my new job!

I remembered some thing over this weekend. I remembered how thoroughly, how whole-heartedly and how deeply I hate to have a hangover. On Friday night my Pretty Lady and I went out to a moderately swanky hotel hotel for a meal with a good friend of ours. We had wine with the meal and then repaired to the bar. I would only be guessing at the time we left the bar. From there we went back to our friend's placxe and kept drinking and singing and playing guitars and drinking. All apparently without waking her husband. What time we called it a night and went our ways to bed is as much of a mystery to me as are Quadratic Equations. All I know is that I woke, about 4.30 on Saturday afternoon, with a mouth as dry as the Mojavé Desert and very, very wobbly on my feet. A few hours later and I only just managed to get out of a car before, well, I guess "blowing cookies" is rather a distasteful expression.

So I think I may be done with the heavy drinking. The word "hangover" doesn't even begin to hint at the total breakdown of capabilities and functions. Next time we go out, I think I may stop after three or four drinks and go onto fruit juice or tea or something that won't make my brain dribble out of my ears.

Before I turn in for the night, can I just mention here that I haven't had a cigarette since last Thursday. I would have liked one tonight but managed to resist. Yay me!