I hate waking up and the heating is off… I’m so cold I can barely type as my fingers are shaking violently. I wanted to get up early so I could go to the post office and see how it would cost to send Phil and Erika their big ass package… But Moblog readers will know I was out in the pub with people from work last night, so no way in hell am I in any state to face the outside world today.
I hate going out to drink, because I always say I’ll stay for a few or an hour or so, but invariably it turns into a lot more than a few and I’m usually the last one to leave. And now it’s getting harder to shake off the effects the next day, like early last year when I was out on a Friday night and ended up vomiting blood the next day…. Or the time I was in Boston and made a complete fool of myself, nearly dying in the process… Good times…
No wait, their not.
I’m old before my time, even my lame ass attempts to impress women is fading faster than a blown light bulb.
What’s left for me?
Is the Post Office still open? Should I go outside?
Any ideas?