Two and a Half Pint Hangover

A mixture of growing older, perhaps, mixed with the fact that working six days a week means that I drink a lot less than I used to -not that I was ever a big drinker anyway- has led to the unfortunate outcome that I can have a hangover from the amount of alcohol mentioned in the title of this post.
This isn't a 'physical' hangover - apart from a slight headache and a curious tiredness, I don't feel ill at all - this is one of those dreaded 'mental' hangovers.
I suppose we've all had them, that nagging feeling that things aren't right, those odd Sunday afternoons where darkness comes, and it seems far too early, and the spectre of work looms up like an appointment at the gallows... and then you end up here. At this point I'm at now.
8:32pm on a Sunday night.
I am enveloped in a strange feeling of dread, a ghostly miasma of disquiet and foreboding. I breathe a portentious air. The bedsit feels strange. Altered somehow. As if I shouldn't be here. I certainly can't relax here. I shall be doing nothing for the remainder of the night but watch DVDs. The bedsit feels too wrong, like I'm living in a little used hallway of a house that isn't mine, as if people might pass through at any time.
I'm even thinking about going to sleep.
If this was summer there'd be another hour of sunlight left.
Two and a half pints. That was all...
Oh well. Monday to look forward to tomorrow.
I'm really looking forward waking up in the still-dark of tomorrow morning...