Getting drunk is a great way to forget your problems.

Your bed sheet, and-- oh god-- your clothes, are stained with dried puke. That's right, you barfed like a freshman. But don't you feel like a man, now? Albeit an underaged man?

Last night's occurences are a little fuzzy, but it's apparent that you made your way home last night, and in one piece, although that one piece isn't in the best shape at the moment. Your head aches like it never has before, and your stomach's churning like a hurricane-laden sea. Goodness, what time is it? 4pm?? The clock must be wrong. Did you really drink yourself that sick?

Despite the noxious fog occupying your head right now, it occurs to you that your sign up period for classes is today, or, to be more precise, -was- today. You won't be able to choose your classes until the general enrollment period begins next week. By then all the good courses and professors may be taken. Well, there's nothing to be done about that now.

"Here, have a Red Bull," says a familiar voice. Uday towers over you, a cold can of refreshment in his gigantic palm. "It'll make you feel better." It will? "Always works for me," he confirms.

"Was this your first?" he asks, "hangover, I mean?" You nod weakly, then down the beverage in two gulps. You actually feel a little worse. Uday seems like he's suppressing a smile. He must've partied plenty in high school.

"My other suggestions are sleeping or getting some fresh air. Or both. Go find a park bench or something."