hangover, drunk, alcoholic, virginia woolf, elizabeth taylor

Hangovers through the ages

Hangovers at…

  • 18: What hangover? Course I can come out again tonight!!!
  • 20: Pizza found in kitchen bin for breakfast. Haven’t been to bed and now powering through until a proper second wind kicks in. Dramatic describing (to anyone who will listen) of feeling ill while not really feeling ill. Hair of the dog at lunch time. All good now.
  • 25: Pepsi Max, bacon sandwich, six-minute micro-sleep in the loos at work, Alka Seltzer just to show off. Wispa found at back of drawer most profoundly delicious thing of all time. Morning spent emailing each other about who was the most drunk. Everyone vying for it to be them.
  • 30: Burger King and self-loathing. Attempt at peppermint tea quickly abandoned. Multiple fags. Sleeping in, sweating. Day spent crying because one person says you were the most drunk at the party.
  • 35: Wheat grass shots. Steam room at the gym. Coconut water. Feel worse. Four gallons of coffee. A packet of Haribo. Watching Friends on Netflix for the whole of Saturday feeling depressed. Trying to call everyone, but no one picking up. Anxious. Not answering when anyone calls back. Texting, ‘That was so much fun!!!’ while wrapped in a blanket on the sofa covered in dread.
  • 40: A 45-minute sit-down shower. Three-hour chat with Samaritans. Séance to purge self of evil spirit now occupying body. Ten minutes praying while prostrate on the ground. Oh God, the paranoia.
  • 45: Ill for a week. Considering making will for the first time ever. Imagining own funeral. Moved by how upset everyone is. Hours of brutal self-examination. Paranoia so bad, now a borderline conspiracy theorist.
  • 50: Omega-3 supplements. Probiotics. Milk thistle. Ashwagandha. Some kind of aromatherapy rollerball thing for stress. All totally fucking useless. Considering moving abroad to live in a tree. Can’t make eye contact. Everything hurts. Nails. Hair. Soul.
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