Still buzzed from last night's drink out with Dodo, Faye and Raymond. Laughed hard. Downed around six bottles. Only. Yet the lightheaded morning after is somewhat bluesy. Like that Blake Babies song: Nothing's good and nothing's bad. That tentative heavyness of feet. That under the sheets disposition.
The term hangover was originally a 19th century expression describing unfinished business – something left over from a meeting – or ‘survival.’ (Wikipedia)
There's always unfinished business. Loose ends. Work in progress. Missing pages. Open endings. Hangovers.
About time I get used to it.
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