Hangovers: I am normal.

After spending the entire weekend celebrating the fact that one of my oldest and dearest friends will soon be married to the love of her life (aka, a bachelorette party) I found myself dehydrated, nauseous, trembling, and just simply ill yesterday. Whenever this happens to me, I generally convince myself that I am, in fact, dying at which point panic ensues, and I inevitably call my mother to inform her that she will soon become childless. The story ends with me eventually falling asleep, despite my irrational fears, Monday actually does come shortly thereafter with me around to witness it, and I feel ashamed for wimpering and whining my entire Sunday away. Rinse. Repeat.

Anyway, I was very intrigued to read a timely article (at least for me) in The New Yorker titled, "A Few Too Many: Is there any hope for the hangover?" Its quite a lengthy article but if you've ever suffered from the dreaded morning after feeling, you might discover the contents insightful...or amusing...or both. This is the excerpt that caught my attention

“When that ineffable compound of depression, sadness (these two are not the same), anxiety, self-hatred, sense of failure and fear for the future begins to steal over you, start telling yourself that what you have is a hangover. . . . You have not suffered a minor brain lesion, you are not all that bad at your job, your family and friends are not leagued in a conspiracy of barely maintained silence about what a shit you are, you have not come at last to see life as it really is.”

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