"I don't need a nap," leads to predictable results

I finished and submitted the editing job at around 5 p.m. yesterday and settled back to a few aperitifs, a bottle of wine, a couple of digestifs (well, four), and a few beers.
 
I woke up with a headache (although surprisingly not too bad), the habitual self-loathing one gets from having fallen into the Friday afternoon drinking trap, and an email from my client saying they had been called into a meeting for Monday and could I help with another file before then. Plus I had an urgent translation to do.
 
At times like this, words cannot accurately convey my thoughts, so I won’t bother. Mrs. Ottawacker, who was also emerging from her week of hell, took Ottawacker Jr. off for a morning of exercise at the empty Vincent Massey Park, and I got on with it.