Hungover.

Yesterday was party day. Lolita and Tiny were at my place and I drank red wine, white wine and vodka until I started puking uncontrollably. Tiny and Lolita went home. I continued vomiting. Today I am very weak and have been undergoing a strict diet of water and porridge. It's four in the afternoon and I'm still not quite out of bed.

There is some kind of construction work going on on this building. I think they're cleaning the facade. This was fortuitous yesterday night, as my room was suddenly equipped with a giant party-balcony right outside the window. It was a bit tricky to climb over there, with the gap between my window and the scaffold, and the drunkeness to maneuver. I do live on the second floor, after all. But well there we could happily dance to this awesome youtube remix and blow Marlboro smoke into the cold night air. I think the smoking was what killed the party. And this whole day. I am a sensitive soul and tobacco is too strong a drug for me.

Anyway, as I lay in my bed this morning, feeling ill, with the blinds down, there was something of a circus going on outside my window. Around nine, it sounded like a man was sitting on the scaffold, singing. He sang for a long time and it wasn't particularly good, but it was ambitious. It made me happy. Also, random conversations between the construction workers:

- Have you ever been fishing salmon trout?
- (pause) No.
- Have you ever eaten salmon trout?
- (silence)

Now the construction workers have gone for the day, but someone on third floor is playing a saxophone. I am entertained, but still not well. I don't know what to do with myself.

Oh, I know what you're thinking - Get your own goddamn blog to pollute!

I will not.