Hangovers are horrible, right? Alcohol lingers in your system and makes every available organ feel like it's been put through a mangle, twice. You can't think, you can't eat, and you just want to lay down in a dark room with an intravenous drip rehydrating you without the need for you to put anything into your mouth.
It is also possible to get a hangover, of sorts, from overeating. Meat, especially. Throw yourself wholeheartedly into barbecued fare on a Sunday afternoon and you are running the risk of non-stop nausea through Monday.
Then, too, there is the not-much-reported, but oft-mentioned on this blogsite, 'Snack Hangover' which occurs when one has overindulged in salty products at a party and ended up with your sodium levels shot to bits, fighting for control of your own sanity while your body tries to process all the over-processed crisps, nuts and crackers you have forced down your gullet unnecessarily. This one is particularly nasty, because you don't really get a warning that you've gone too far, until you realise you've gone too far, and then you've got to deal with it for the next 36 hours or so while your body reboots and recalibrates.
Each of these are unpleasant and best avoided if possible, especially when one gets into ones thirties, and can't fight through the pain as well as one could when one was younger, and when one is faced with a long day at work and then an evening with an energetic young child. Each of these is unpleasant, but the real shitter is when you get all three of them together. Then it really is a day of physical suffering, accentuated by the fact that you should know better by now and really shouldn't find yourself in this position yet again.
In case you hadn't guessed, today I have the Triple Whammy.
Just thinking about what I ate, drank and snacked on yesterday is making me want to vomit in a large bin and then sit in a cold shower.
Next time someone asks me - "If you could be Dr Who for a day, where would you go in the Tardis?" - my answer will be 'Sunday May 15th 2022, about 4pm. I'd go there and find myself in my garden and tie myself to a tree to stop me reaching for another burger and some Pringles.'
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