I am currently nursing a bitchin' hangover.
The kind of hangover that makes you feel dirty and wrong and ashamed of yourself.
The kind of hangover that leaves you whimpering and calling out for the sweet release only death can bring.
The type that causes you to fall in the airport in front of everyone because putting one foot in front of the other was beyond your realm of capabilities at 9 am this morning. (Yep. I ate it. hard. kissed the pavement. I then proceeded to laugh hysterically like a crazy person about it. In my defense, I think I was still drunk)
I really wanted to write a long post about my marathon training and the potential implications of my current knee pain, but there is no bragging about mileage today. There was no mileage today. or yesterday. or the day before that. Instead I ate cupcakes and drank Guinness. lots of it.
(you know what they say, when in Rome...I mean, it's Dublin. It's practically water there. I really didn't have any other choice)
I'd love to stay and chat, but I accidentally just watched a vodka commercial and I think I might just curl up and die right here and now. I'd also really like to provide you with some pictures to accompany how I'm feeling, but trust me, no one wants to see this hot mess. Sean keeps telling me that I look "really good, considering..." and then he trails off. That's the equivalent of telling a girl she has a "nice personality". I get it dude, I get it. I smell like a hooker whose been hanging around the smoking section of a truck stop in the bad part of town.
So here, stare at the cupcakes instead.
aren't they pretty?
I'll be back tomorrow. Unless I'm at the Betty Ford clinic. or McDonalds. or dead.