My last 18 hours, perfectly described by one of my coffee mugs

Last night, I went to The Wicket on Bloor Street.


My old friend Sephera Giron, who gave me this mug years ago, was there, and it occurred to me that it describes my last 18 hours or so in a perfectly concise way.

"I sometimes wake up in the morning
and try to get out of my bed
but it feels like my tongue
has been dipped in some dung
and a rhino's charged into my
head"