It's Friday and I'm hungover.

The office has to deal with 200+ students today, but that didn't stop right-thinking me from popping out last night for a few. Hell, the new Thursday night lineup on NBC doesn't start until next week, and heaven knows I needed a few pints after the last three weeks with these toddlers.

It was going to be an early night. That was until we ended up on the patio at The Keg, swilling shots and scarfing carb/artichoke dip and brownie sundaes. That was until Jem's boyfriend Trevor grabbed me and began to twirl me across the windy, abandoned patio under the massive heaters. That was until I glanced at my watch while snuggled up in one of the oversized leather chairs in the warm, dry lounge and noticed it was 12:50.

It's not even the hangover so much as the way I tend to get so damn melancholy the day after a boozer. My Irish blood, I suppose. 'Tis a curse. I've spent the better part of the morning listening to my Love, Loss, Peace cd and verbally abusing myself for all manner of recent failures.

I need another coffee.