00:15. Leave Ian’s birthday party after stealing the clitoris of his vulva cake.
01:00. Go to bed extremely drunk after 2 drinks over 5 hours.
09:00. Receive snapchat from Ian – a picture of Ian hungover in a bus, captioned “hungover in a bus”.
10:00. Wake up by phone call from Mother. Answer in a series of variously tuned “mhmm”s. Mother gathered that I’m still asleep and makes plans to call back in an hour.
10:05. Actually check Ian’s snapchat. Overjoyed by the fact that I finally received a snapchat from someone who’s not the “Snapchat Team”. Contemplate returning a snapchat; text him “I’d snapchat you back to say ‘hungover in bed’, but then I’m still naked” instead. Back to sleep.
11:00. Mother calls a second time. Manage to mumble. Mother asks why I’m mumbling, to which I reply “I have a headache”. Mother tries to convince me that I’m just PMS-ing. Refrain from telling Mother that she’s just menopausal. Fail to refrain.
11:20. Contemplate the meaning of life. Why do I get hangovers? Why do I get hangovers after only 2 drinks, while the guy sitting next to me is fine after 8? How do I deal with the hangover without killing myself? Why am I Asian? What is the meaning of life?
11:22. Realize that I’m Asian because it was statistically very likely, and genetically absolutely certain. Put on toe socks and get the fuck up.
11:35. Housemates feed me burnt toast. Get tired of chewing. Burnt toast is weird. Actually, the whole concept of toast is weird. Once upon a time it was just dough. Then you heat it up and it becomes bread. Then you heat it up a bit after you slice it, and it’s toast?! So when you heat it up a second time in the toaster, shouldn’t it logically change name again? Like the name “carbon”, or “cardboard”, would both make more sense than “toast”.
11:50. Bike to work. The leaves look exceptionally pretty today. They seem more colourful than yesterday. I thought leaves were supposed to be green, but somehow today they’re red and yellow and orange and all kinds of colours! What happened?! Maybe I’m still drunk.
12:05. Arrive at work late; still the first one to get here. Contemplate the meaning of life if it’s so damn hard to even be late for once when I’m hungover. Sit on the boss’s chair. The boss has a nice chair! Fart in boss’s chair.
12:25. Take my first washroom break of the shift. There’s no more toilet paper. Text my also-late-and-still-hasn’t-shown-up coworker telling him there’s no more toilet paper. He replies back “Purell in top drawer”. Confused. Am I supposed to purell my bum? Realize he’s probably also hung over. Either way, find napkins in top drawer; crisis averted.
12:50. Nap in boss’s chair.
14:07. Wake up. Realize it’s Sunday. Why the fuck am I at work? Go home. Sleep the rest of the day.