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I am beginning to develop a complicated biochemical theory. It is about hangovers.

I have been hung over exactly once–well, probably one and a half times. I do not like being so inebriated that tomorrow morning’s pain becomes a concern, so I try to avoid it. This is not terribly pressing.

But I am intending to drink this weekend, if only a little, and apparently I am being punished for it already. I’ve had a headache for the last four days. It is getting less and less amusing.

My theory, then, is that your body can tell when you are planning to be mean to it, and in certain cases (mine) it develops the ability to strike preemptively.

I’ve spent the afternoon alternately balancing a mug of hot coffee on my forehead and drinking from it, in hopes that I will absorb caffeine in both ways and that will somehow Help. It has not. I am disappointed.

Awww, Bitka (my cat) has just crawled down into my lap from where she was roaming around on the back of the furniture to help me convalesce. Or maybe she just wants to vomit on me. There are some suspicious hairball-esque movements happening in the vicinity of her throat.

I will keep you updated as the situation progresses.

Someone fetch me some painkillers. They are in the right side of what I somewhat laughably term the “medicine cabinet” in the bathroom. I would go, but there’s this cat on my lap, and also it is so far away.

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