On self-inflicted injuries

I am suffering from dehydration, upset stomach and a headache — commonly known as "a hangover" — this morning. It's a rare condition for me, as I almost never drink alcohol and usually manage to control myself when I do. Unfortunately, I sometimes get caught up in the excitement of the moment.

I was walking home past the Dead White Male Poet Cafe, a Stehimbiß where we often have lunch, and noticed that the door was open. Marco was having a drink with a neighbour for whom he'd taken in a delivery; he set out another glass and I joined them. And stayed there, drinking and talking as neighbours came and went, and his wife and dog came and stayed, until 10:30. On an empty stomach.

Yes, you're right: I am an idiot. Thank you for pointing that out.

Marco has his eyes open. At one point, when we were alone in the cafe, he slapped his palm on the table and right out of the blue said: "It's time for a serious talk. You're clearly unhappy at the architects', why don't you quit?" I was staggered. It's true that I am unhappy and have been for quite a while, but I am surprised and somewhat worried that it's that obvious.

In other news it's Friday, hooray. I very seldom say that, but this week the sentiment is true. I've been waiting since Tuesday for the week to be over. A colleague once asked what I was going to do on the weekend, I replied "nothing at all, I doubt if I'll even bother to breathe" and that is about the scope of my plans for this weekend too. (Other than blogging, of course. And going to the library. And walking down to the river if the weather holds.)

Shabbat shalom to my Israeli readers, to everyone else a hearty TGIF!