What a disaster today is. Yesterday evening I met with Médecin Franco-Ontarien Malin (Méfom). This wicked creature made me drink one or two of pints of beer too many. Yep. Practically poured them down my throat, he did. We had much to discuss regarding last week. And these many hours later I feel like someone is sandpapering the inside of my skull and hammering nails into the backs of my eyeballs.

Now, I am not exactly a morning person to begin with. Typically, I stumble to the kitchen, make some coffee, often spilling grounds everywhere, and fall back into bed until the coffee is ready. Then I crawl back to the kitchen, grab the first coffee cup – dirty or clean – I come across and with ever-so-precise control, very difficult for Morning Snobby, combine the right proportions of caffeine, milk, and sugar to transform me into the witty, effervescent Snobby I have grown to know and love.

You must all be very proud of Snobby now because, throughout this time of unemployment I have stuck to a fairly normal sleep schedule, usually awaking somewhere between 7:00 and 7:30. Not bad for a non-morning person. It's slightly more difficult to maintain such a schedule when someone has been forcing you to drink beer for an extended period of time. So now you are probably extremely worried about my waking schedule for today. Fear not. I have a trusty alarm clock in the form of a controlling, passive-aggressive cat who does not appreciate change in his household without his prior approval. So, if I'm not up by 8:00, he wakes me up in a very insidious manner. He stares, and trust me that the power of his stares bores right through any alcohol-based slumber I might be enjoying and snaps me violently into the waking world.

And let me tell you that there is something quite eerie about waking up to a pair of giant, luminously yellow eyes coolly observing you. Not moving. Not blinking. Just looking at you. It certainly makes you want to move.

So here I am, mainly unslept and waiting in vain for the coffee to kick in before I go meet my mother for lunch, an exhausting walk all over downtown with her, and then a lecture this evening at one of the HIV/AIDS organizations I volunteer at on something depressing. Quite a day to be hung-over.

I have to deal with my mother on a hangover. This reminds me of my life 15 years ago, which either means I'm immature or I'm still charmingly youthful and full of life.