Stumble to the bathroom like a zombie. Do what needs to be done, then continue the graceless shambling to the dining table, where I flop onto a chair with an incredible lack of style. I sit there with my head in my hands for how ever long I need to in order to stop the world groaning at me. Or is the groaning me? I can never tell. If I'm feeling particularly energetic, I might shake a fist at the sky.
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