Fucking hell, I feel like arse. Last night I went out and got pointlessly twatted with Anne and Justin and David and various others for Valentine's Day, and this morning I woke up STILL DRUNK, which was all very well up until the point that I got to work. I don't think I am drunk any more. I do not feel very well. I would like to go home, but the thought of actually having to get home fills me with existential horror. I have had two chocolate milks in quick succession and the only thing that makes me feel any better is putting stuff in my mouth (shut up) so I plan to spend the rest of the way eating and then feeling sick and regretting it.
Oh no make it stop. Please please make it stop. Wrap me in a blanket and magically take me home.
ETA I bought the wrong sandwich and I want to cry.