I spent my entire Sunday on the edge of a hangover. These days, that's what I get from staying up too late and drinking and smoking for hours on end. I haven't had a killer hangover in aaaaaages (you know, the one that keeps you in the house/out of work pleading "something I ate" just to avoid the shame of admitting you, a grown-ass adult, don't know your limits. Except for the fact that everyone knows you're hungover, you moron, so quit lying).

The point being that now I spend hours engaged in glorious conversation, smoking myself silly, refilling my glass constantly, and instead of the colorful violence of a full-fledged hangover the next day, I am just well enough to feel the need to "get some things done" but not well enough to avoid drifting off mid-sentence, having forgotten how to string together a cohesive thought, wanting to take a nap to refresh, knowing I'll just feel too restless once I lay down, and enduring a shadow of a headache that doesn't quite go away. I've decided to call this state of consequence the "Hangabout."

Of course I'm not saying I'd prefer the big full-on hangover. Of course not. But... At least when hungover, you can hold your skull in your hand all day, eat Saltines, and groan and moan (possibly with your partner in crime) about how much you drank, how fun it was, how you can't possibly do anything but lay on the couch all day watching Full House reruns (anyone? just me then?).

The Hangabout robs you of the drama and the slacking. It hovers like a disapproving parent, and you have to go about your errands, clean your house, call your mom, eat a regular meal. You can't be done in by something this insignificant, can't be that much of a wimp. So you struggle through your day-after with bewildered strides, at times muttering "this sucks, I didn't even drink that much last night" but only to yourself, because again, experiencing all-day discomfort from a completely civilized evening of moderate indulgence? You can't be that much of a wimp.

But I must be, as I've spent a whole entry complaining about my Hangabout, when I originally planned to say something brief and witty, then give a stellar example of how the Hangabout compels you to do Good Productive Things by putting it on the record that I am quitting smoking. As of last night. Crazed, angry, venty entries to follow.

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