Ahhhh, blessed hangover, how I missed you. NOT.
Seriously, how have they not created an alcohol that does not give you hangovers the next day? Is this not 2017?! WHERE IS THE SCIENCE, PEOPLE!!
And while we’re at it, what is the science behind alcohol fuelled brains and their ability to make it hard to talk, walk or dance with any dignity, but are perfectly capable of entering the correct bank card numbers and purchasing stuff online? Because despite yesterday’s efforts to avoid paying for hostel wifi, today I wake up both incredibly ill and able to log in to Youtube… 
Actually, I take that back. Thank you Drunk-Me, a recovery day in bed with Carmilla season 3 is just what I need! 
All was going well, considering that feeling sick in a shared facility instead of in the privacy of your own home is one of the weirder things I’ve ever experienced (and I was once proposed to by a serenading homeless gentleman on my way home from work. It remains, to this day, the only proposal I’ve ever received). I even managed to eat and keep down an apple, the only food I had within easy reaching distance (the Dominoes, it turns out, did not survive the night… Past-Me was very hungry). 
Then, about 12 episodes in, I discovered that there was a couple in this new room I was sharing.

The reason I discovered this was because they decided to come back to the room mid afternoon, kissing and tearing each other’s clothes off. In fact, they managed to get into bed together before realising that the room as not quite as vacant as they would have liked. 
Now at this point, if they had very nicely asked me to vacant the room for an hour or two, I would have been very happy to oblige. What they decided to do instead was sulkily stare at me from across the room and hope I’d take the hint. But Hungover-Me was being petty, and to be honest didn’t really feel like getting up if she didn’t have to.
Which worked. Until a pair of boxers landed on my head.  
I grabbed everything I owned within grabbing distance and legged it to the nearest shower. Scrubbed clean and feeling somewhat better for it, I head into Auckland city centre, thanking all the deities under the blazing sun that I had my sunglasses on me. 
As I can’t afford to keep eating out I brave the harsh lights of the local Countdown long enough to scrounge up some somewhat healthy food, before crawling back to the hostel to commandeer one of the big squishy sofas in their lobby. Watching more Youtube and colouring in the colouring book my Aunt had gifted me can be stretched out for a long time, but eventually Mr Hangover was practically begging me to head back to bed and just sleep. Surely it was safe to return a good 6 hours after I was forcibly evicted, wasn’t it?
It wasn’t. MY EYES!
Lesson Number 17 - If you’re wanting a little sexy time in a hostel, either stick a sock on the door knob or use the bathroom. Just, something with a lockable door handle. Please!


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