I'm hungover. Last night, my fiancee and I went a theatre holiday party. We stayed longer for the after-party than the party itself. I drank cheap wine until 2 a.m. with the artistic director. I'm starting to realize the price for drinking free booze at public events is that you pay for it with the pain the next day.

I'm confused. Our president said he was going to end the war. Our president won the Nobel Peace Prize. Our president accepted the award by saying he's going to continue the war in Afghanistan. Our president is not practicing peace. It's like giving me a bronze star for staying out of the military.

I'm baffled. My alma mater and home town university lost its first ten football games, and I was sad. Now, the men's basketball team has won its first ten games of the year, with the last one coming yesterday with a win over nationally-ranked Texas A&M in Houston. This makes me happy. Do we have to suffer the failures of one sport to rejoice in the victories of another? I guess so. I'm still waiting for my pro football team to win a Super Bowl in my lifetime, and it won't happen this year.

I'm simple-minded. The front screen door has been popping open for a few months now. I don't do anything the to fix it. I just keep closing the screen door until it finally latches. My brother comes over today and tells me to loosen the latch. This does not work, so we take the entire latch off. There is a flat piece of cardboard underneath. We replace it with a fresh piece of cardboard and the door now latches. It takes less than five minutes of effort.

I'm open to home remedies. Remember when I said I was hungover? I still am, but not as bad as when I woke up. My genius brother (remember, he just helped me with the screen door) brought over some Old Chub. It's a scotch ale made by the people who also make Dale's Pale Ale, an altogether tasty beer. He said I should drink a beer, and it will help my hangover. I am now drinking alcohol to cure my slight alcohol poisoning from the night before. Fight fire with fire!

I'm not open to heroin. Last Tuesday while in the cab, I drove through a half hour snow storm at five in the morning. I took an old Indian woman and her husband to the methadone clinic. She cried and whined like my 16-month old daughter while I put her wheelchair in the trunk and they crawled into the cab. It was a pathetic six dollar ride. Heroin sucks. I had a friend die because of a bad dose of heroin, and people on methadone are some of the most unattractive folks alive.

I'm strangely open to pharmaceuticals. After the old Indian woman, I picked up a blind man up the road who was going to the airport. He told me he took Valium every now and again and wondered if it was okay to give me some. I said 'Whatever you want to do.' He went on to explain he had half doses, so I should take one and then take another a half hour later. Then, he said I had some trash on the ground and gave me a little foiled package. It contained six pills. I took two that night as did my brother (remember, the one who helped fix my screen door and gave me a beer). It had a mild effect, and I was groggy the next day. Valium always reminds me of the Rolling Stones song "Mother's Little Helper." What a drag it is getting old.

I'm typing. You could call it writing, you could call it rambling, but it's typing. There may have been some wisdom in it, there may not have. That's usually for the reader to decide. It's just some of the thoughts and experiences I've had this week. I try to learn from them. I try to be a better person, or at least, not a worse person. Maybe I do things I shouldn't. Maybe I should do them and learn from what happens. Maybe this hangover is going away. Maybe I won't drink so much tonight.

Chris Jungle is human.