today is my day to be as hung over as fuck. saturday night trickled back in over the course of the day, bringing some groans with it (we danced to that?), and an oddity or two (why did the junkie in the shopping trolley sing happy birthday while strumming an entirely different tune on his guitar? for that matter, what was he doing in a trolley at all?)

i'd signed myself up for a counselling shift for today, anticipating a non-drunken evening leading into a clear-headed, emotionally sound session which would wipe away the dirty feeling left by my last phone encounter. sitting in the chair, waiting for the phone to ring - it's got a terror-inducing sound, a sudden shrill buzzzing which scares me at the best of times - i just wanted to go home. scenario played out in head: you think you feel bad? i feel worse.

the phone rings. i press the button. my hangover vanishes, in a swirl of fear and adrenaline. gone for good. yes, counselling is the one true Cure for a Hangover, longed for by countless generations.

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ok: 'bad boy' is a compliment applied to celebrity men with dark eyes and knowing looks, the type you'd love to have a satisfying affair with. 'bad man' is a pejorative; lurkers in parks, drug dealers, etc. something about the charm of boyishness and mischeviousness transforms 'bad' into a positive. maybe it's a class thing. rich actors/singers can't be bad, not really, not deep down.