sunday is the worst day to be hungover. saturday’s okay - it always feels like a vast carefree expanse before you; you can indulge, laze out the hangover. sunday is nothing. it’s the day after christmas. it’s just weakly patting you on the back and giving you a phony smile as it guides you back into the weekly grind, like the receptionist as you step into an office to get fired or receive bad news from the doctor.
thinking biblically, hangovers, i would suppose, must be part of the fall. i bet in the garden of eden they had a tree where the grapes were all fully fermented and everything, and they could just sit around eating those all day, wake up in the afternoon feeling bright and rested and grab another handful.
if they somehow cured hangovers, made a global vaccine, i wonder if we’d come to sort of miss them. i feel like maybe, wretched though they are, they’re one of those little bristlings that are somehow essential to our humanity.