Uuuhhhh

So I'm sitting here, on Christmas Eve, with a hangover. And the irony of it is that I don't even drink. No, this a special kind of hangover. The kind you get about 30 hours after having an iv of extra strength Benedryl and steroids. Ug. I hate going to the ER. But it turns out (and this is great for the little elf gleefully hammering his chisel inside my skull) that I'm allergic to ibuprofen. Now I'm not even allowed to take aspirin. Nothing but Tylenol, which may as well be a sugar pill, without the sugar buzz (I'd like to insert some bitterness here).
I need to put new sheets on my bed, and there's a pile of socks sitting on the floor that need to be matched and folded and put away. And I need to be doing something with this crazy hair before the Christmas eve service (which is guaranteed to be both bright and loud) but I just want to turn off the light and cover my ears with a pillow, or possibly down a couple of gallons of water (has my mouth been sucking on cotton while I was away?). So Merry Christmas to irony, I owe ya one.