As soon as I wake up my head starts thrumming out beats to the ear-piercing shrill of my cell phone alarm at 5:20 a.m. on Saturday.
Apparently I'm hungover.
I didn't think I drank that much.
And I've only been asleep for like an hour.
And I had a WaWa chicken waldorf salad sandwich after the ride home.
And ohmygod do I have work today? If I do, then I'm already dressed I guess. I wiggle my feet and say "Thank god" when I realize that I'd taken off my heels.
I press every button on the phone to shut it up.
I sit up straight in bed and my eyes are dry as sand from my contacts that I've slept in.
In this kind of situation, I need a boyfriend to magically appear in my life to bring me water and Advil and to say, "I told you not to drink so much." Oh, I could also use some spooning right now.
I thought about getting up for the Advil myself, but there are stairs involved and I decide to pull a Rip Van Winkle instead and sleep a good part of my hangover away.
It's 2 p.m. when I wake up again and I'm starving.
My head still hurts.
I vaguely remember yelling at Jess when she popped in my room to make sure I was alive.
I check my phone and sure enough, I've sleep-answered some text messages and missed some calls.
I feel queasy when I stand up but all I can think about is the leftover loMein in the fridge. I want to eat the whole thing cold in my bed and nothing has ever seemed more appetizing.