Hung Over

I know how it happened, but I never have a hang-over, so it caught me off guard. I'd had a great day, accomplished everything I intended, picked up everything on the list, a little social contact, a pleasant drive home up the creek. Stopped at the ford and drove through a couple of times, to clean the undercarriage and the wheel wells. When I got home I put on The Dead quite loud and set about some minimal housekeeping, There was a paragraph on the screen of my computer that I had started the day before, and at some point I stopped cleaning (fucking dust bunnies) and sat down to look for comma violations. A violation is when a comma intrudes on sense. Got an early drink and rolled two cigarets, the second one in case someone called, and wrote for a couple of hours. Someone did call, which doesn't happen that often, an old friend who'd moved to California decades ago and I hadn't spoken to in many years, and we had what I would call a fairly boring conversation. I don't actually view some of the pranks we pulled in school as being the high point of my life. I couldn't begin to list the high points of my life, even I wouldn't believe them. What happened, as I attempt to reconstruct events, was that I had several more drinks, remembering the past, had some soup and took a nap. Awakened at two in the morning by a squabble at the compost pile. I haven't moved the compost pile, though I've thought to do so many times, because it is such a source of entertainment. Dispersed the pack of wild dogs and a very large raccoon with my slingshot, and got another drink, wrote for another couple of hours. Several drinks, and a few sentences later I took another nap, and woke up with what I knew to be, from the description by others, a hang-over. I had nothing better to do than to get over a hang-over. I don't keep aspirin around, so I heated some chicken broth which I spiked with a shot of whiskey. Read most of the day. Alternately wondering about fact and fiction.