I have come to anticipate my morning hangovers with a sad but surrendering acceptance. Granted, some mornings are better than others. Yesterday, for instance, I awoke feeling only mildly strung out, courtesy of the rogue tetra-hydrocannabinol still inhabiting my body from an impromptu "session" at 2 a.m. with my roommate. Fine life choices, indeed! The roomie is stressing hardcore about exams, but at least he chooses to flirt with irresponsibility every now and then. My reckless behavior must be contagious!

As for this morning's hangover, few words can adequately describe the toxic fog that transforms even the most benign sights and sounds into sharp daggers of pure PAIN. Oh, the humanity. And what did I do to deserve this morning sickness? Knocked back a few beers (off-campus!) with some friends, is all. If that's a crime, then I don't want to be rehabilitated.

And rejoice: a picture from last night. (My roommate is on the right, performing a sacred Jew dance around our underwhelmingly festive Christmas tree.)