It’s Tuesday morning. You have class at 9:00 AM. You also happened to have Dollar Pitcher night last night.

And now you want to barf.

Your head starts pounding as soon as your alarm goes off at 8:00 and you wonder with appreciation who thought to set it last night. You roll over to turn it off (and discover an empty pizza box…who knew?) and a wave of nausea runs over you. “Should I or shouldn’t I go to class?” You should – and you have to.

You stop for coffee and a bagel on the way in hopes that somehow one of the two will soak up the Schlitz that is still making its way through your system. You curse the guy who invented Dollar Pitchers. You curse your friends for making you go. You curse yourself for bringing more than $1 with you.

Before getting a seat in class you run to the bathroom to pee/try to puke again. You shudder at your reflection in the mirror; between the dark circles under your eyes (a combination of exhaustion and leftover eyeliner), the messy ponytail on your head, and the stamp from the bar that rubbed off on your cheek while you slept, there is no way people aren’t going to know you are hung over as hell.

You try to freshen up a bit, but all that work makes you tired and you give up. “It’s Tuesday morning at 9am. Who isn’t hungover?!”

Class starts and you chug your coffee and pray your professor doesn’t call on you to participate. Obviously he/she does and you are forced to discuss the use of irony in the novel and its contribution to the overall theme. Riiiight. Your mouth is full of cotton and you aren’t wearing a bra and now the entire class is going to be focused on you? And you have to talk? Read More »