Labour day

My head throbs and my eyes fill like tiny grains of sand have been poured in them - my Visa to slumberland has expired without my knowledge and I have been unceremoniously deported to the land of the conscious, but at this moment this land is not my home. I wish to return to the land of slumber but at this moment I am not wanted. In the words of a budding poet, she introduced me to her cousin hangover this morning - and hangover is not half as pretty as the alcohol that came before. It was a good night though, Sofie, music, alcohol and the occasional shit talk with some acquaintances equal one hell of a good time. So I suppose suffering the throbbing head and the burning eyes is a small price to pay for having a blast. This is going to be the last time for me and fete for a little while, but when I resurface - look out.