8 a.m. Wake up. Oh God, am I going to puke? GWH rolls over and snuggles me. I shut my eyes and hope for the best.

11 a.m. What in hell is that sound? Weed-eating? A weed-eater? I’m past nausea but really need to keep sleeping. I silently thank GWH when he gets up to shut the window. He rolls over and snuggles me. I close my eyes again.

12 p.m. “Are you hungry?” GWH is asking. I make a so-so motion with my hand. The nausea is gone, the headache hasn’t appeared yet, but strangely, I’m not that hungry.

12:15 p.m. After much discussion, I’m getting up and pulling on my jeans. I fall dramatically on the bed, moaning.

“Are you okay, baby?” GWH asks.

“No.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like poop.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I’m not nauseous and anymore, and I don’t have a headache…I just…”

“Feel like shit?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

1:30 p.m. Parking lot of La Reyna.

“What do you want to do?” I ask GWH, wondering if I’m dying.

He drapes his arms and head on the steering wheel. “I want to die.”

“That sounds nice.”

3:30 p.m. Town Lake Animal Shelter. There’s a guy with one front tooth, and the damn tooth is about an inch wide. Freakiest thing I’ve ever seen. The rest of the teeth I can see look like cavities or fillings, or something. I can’t tell. This guy is a walking oral nightmare. His wife looks up at me with myopic eyes behind shaded lenses. He keeps talking about the black cat he had when he was a kid. I’m thinking I might be sick again.

4:15 p.m. Does it always smell like this in here? Uggghhh.

6:00 p.m. Elliptical machine at Gold’s Gym. Holy crap, how did I end up with moisture in my body? I’m actually sweating. And everything hurts. I’m squinting at the TVs and see Hank Hill drinking beer. That looks really disgusting.

7:00 p.m. CVS pharmacy. Hangover, why won’t you die? WHY? I’ve done everything right—I’ve eaten greasy food, had some water, sweated it out at the gym. So many toxins. I blame the f*cking tequila. Evil. Pure evil. Okay, so medicine will help me. Okay, you know what’s funny? All the warnings say you shouldn’t take this particular drug if you consume 3 or more drinks per day. Ha! If I stopped drinking, I wouldn’t need this stuff.

7:30 p.m. Flipping hair upside down to dry it is no—yeah—not a good idea. Strangely, I’ve progressed to nauseous and hungry at the same time. What the hell?

7:34 p.m. GWH calls to inform me he’s been drinking beer all day. GWH, you are a crazy son of a bitch. But I love you. Hangover? I don’t love you. Go away. Please. Just…go…away.