Hungover

Good grief, I never realized how loud Eleanor is until she woke me up just now. After I've had a busy night with the Scotch courtesy of a good friend; a high-pitched squeal is anything but welcomed. I can't even remember why I was drinking as much in the first place. I'm trying to think and no... no good. It hurts to even ponder at this point. It's even harder when Eleanor is pulling my arm and telling me to get dressed already that Philippa is waiting for me in the foyer.

Philippa... here... did I tell her to come by?

I remember the phone ringing. I remember I ignored the phone. I remember debating whether or not I should go to sleep. I also remember, vaguely, various messages in my credenza left by my secretary, most of them labeled urgent and Philippa written in big block letters.

So you could say this moment has been forewarned in more ways than one, and I've disregarded each and everyone of them. I can pretty much imagine what this might be about but I'm feeling rather lethargic at the moment, and my interest in this and it's dealings is practically zero.

The door just flew open. Eleanor promptly left my side, after what I can imagine was a long staring match between her and Philippa (whom else would it be?). She is tapping my shoulder right now. I suppose this means it's time to turn around.