Uuhhhhhhhh. Cough. Ugh. Sleep . . . . . . . . . . . . . What!? Oh. Hi. Can’t talk. Hung over. Very tired. Sick. Queazy. Too much fun. Last night. Sunday is today. Need to pack. Can’t speak full sentences. Blew roof off. Vomit. Maybe. Don’t know. Megan and I sweating. Hot. Summer decided to come. Gross. This is us . . .
I guess we had to have one last hangover before we departed the windy (vomit) city. Our hangovers consist of one of us taking their place on the couch and the other in the bed while we weat it out. Megan got the couch. I’m in the bed. She’s watching bad 80’s movies while she detoxes. I Love Lucy is on in the bedroom.
When I was in college, it was like magic — every time I had a hangover, there was some Real World marathon on. So that took up most of my day. Today, we need to recoup so that tomorrow we can finish packing. T-minus three days till we move. Thanks for the lapse of memories, Chicago. Thanks a lot.