What doesn’t kill you…

Today I have a class 1 hangover.
I would like to take some time to describe the stages that a hangover goes through before settling between your eyes.

Class 1: You’re just a little bit shaky; you could even stand being around a disgustingly smelly person. You remember everything from last night and you have no regrets or anxieties over the amount of money you’ve spent getting to the state you’re in. A slight ache has settled behind your eyes, you’re thinking OMG, but really you’re OK.

Class 2: You’re sweating and you’re having a feeling of something being stuck in your throat, you’re bitching and moaning about the fact that it’s not healthy to order two big pack menus at le McDonald’s at 5.30 in the morning, you even tried to flirt yourself to a goddamn Apple pie. You feel stiff and your make up is not all there, you’re dry and you feel f**king ill. You tell yourself that you are OK. You consider going out for some ice cream but then you remember what a damn fuss that is and you spend all day in bed with your aching head and you couldn’t care less for that “Carpe diem” crap.

Class 3: You spend the whole day in the loo; you have sent at least 10 I’m-so-sorry-it-won’t-happen-again messages to your friends. You wonder where that huge bruise is coming from. It must have hurt a lot. The thought of food makes you feel like throwing up. For real! All of your pay check is spent, you have dried Sandman-stuff all over your face and you are bloody lucky if no one have painted something sexually nasty and explicit on your forehead and above all…your miss your parents and feel tiny as a microbe. You’re the loneliest person in the whole wide world.

This man is going to wake up with a class 3 hang over. Congratulations!

Class 4: You could just as well jump off the nearest bridge, (that would be Västerbron in my case) because pal, your f***ed.