The Hangover | 9th May 2011 | 15:07 PDT

On Sunday, I was terribly hungover and therefore not in a good mental or physical state, upon waking I learnt the lesson to never drink heavily on an empty stomach. When I realised this, I thought how very wise advice of me to teach myself this, albeit... accidentally.

I happily showed off the world my pain when I eventually left the cosy warmth of my bed and house to get some food, I'd thought to show the world my feeling I'd wear black, hood to toe (as my hood was up) and sunglasses adorned.

Honestly, I've had it up to here with this hangover. (via
Whilst I was in my pedestrian transit of walking from my local Subway to my local beach to have a local picnic and local kip on the local beach and perhaps look at my local waves crashing on my local beach while having my local picnic. A lady stopped me. To ask for directions. To a Starbucks.

"What the Dickens!" I thought "How dare she. Here I am, shutting out the world out of existence, looking like a menace to society and you, lady, have the audacity to ask me for the nearest caffeine dispensary unit." I continued my internal-monologue as she waited there for a reply "People always ask me for directions and the ONE day I explicitally don't want the world to be near me, it decides bounds up to me and lick me in the face."

Regardless of my internal thought, my external verbal thoughts told her where it was and she thanked me.

Urgh, I felt good for it. I didn't want to feel good. I wanted to wallow in my own misery. I wanted to be close to tears about how much pain I'm in. I wanted to eat my feelings on the beach. These BLOODY strangers. Making my day worthwhile. Urgh.

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