The worst part of a hangover is not the headache, the tiredness or the sore neck (too much violent dancing, always - yes for me hangovers are literally pains in the neck) - but rather this sort of existential dis-ease that settles over my life in the afternoon of the day after the night. Too sluggish and empained to do anything productive or even to cobble together some vaguely fruitful time-wasting, I sit about with this awkward pall of stillness over me. There is really nothing that can be done in the period, but to wait.

Fortunately I was babysitting tonight. The children pulled me out of my gloom. They're at home on a school night: such a happy, relaxed time, the evening. Talking and making silly jokes over dinner, watching Keeping Up Appearances as if it were a new TV show. This cheered me (though I did nod off on the couch while watching Kath and Kim with them). Often the manner of these kids - their domestic set-up reminds me so much of my own when I was younger - is a good prompt for me, not to worry so goddamn much.

(And so now their babysitter is downstairs blogging about the higher meaning she extrapolated from the evening - instead of actually, you know, doing her job - instead of making sure they're turned off their lights, aren't running amuck, et cetera.)

Apologies for the lack of posts of late. I've been postponing everything in my life again. Silly habits. But not unmasterable ones.