Breakfast got me into trouble yesterday. Not so much the breakfast exactly, but the mimosas. That's where it all began. As a rule, if you drink four mimosas before noon, you've made a swift and irreversible stride in the direction of debauchery.
I was home and in bed by 5:30, and woke up at 11:00 with several missed calls and a hangover. I considered going back out, for some hair of the dog, but thought better of it when I stood up and my head began to throb. Until last night, I hadn't ever had the luxury of trying to go to sleep at the same time a hangover started stirring. It was terrible. Deranged half-awake dreams that felt more like psychoactive adventures than restful slumber. Ah well, never again; until next time.
The sun is shining and I have to run. Time for breakfast.
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Sunday morning
And I'm falling
I've got a feeling
I don't want to know
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