a hangover is a tool to make us slow down and absorb detail. the weirdness of the light before rain. the exceptionally bad flavour of the coffee. the pole vaulter's expression of focussed dorkiness.

i have lousy dreams. but i bet if i was drunk more, and hung over more, i would sleep the sleep of the righteous and dehydrated. what snoozing lush can spare brain cells for anxiety and guilt and fear of...

when i find, through diligent jungian self-probings, what these fears are, i will publish them. i will publish them as limericks and lay them to waste. and i will sleep. with reveen's smirk on my lips.