7 a.m.: Wake up, preferably hung over, preferably unable to recall how you wound up in your own bed (or in someone else's bed, even better). Clutch your head in a paroxysm of pain, hoping that this is all a bad dream. Repeat.
7:30 a.m.: Finally crawl out of bed because that stupid alarm clock won't shut up, and because coffee will not-despite your best efforts-make itself. If you woke up in another person's bed, add the fact that s/he is starting to wake up, and ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT want you next to them when they do sober up and wake up.
7:45-9:00 a.m.: Sip coffee and munch on day-old bread, preferably alone, preferably in your underwear, alone. As you do so, ponder the deeper mysteries of how it is that, despite your best efforts, it is in fact Friday and you have in fact been this hungover every Friday for the last month (at least).
9:15 a.m.: Muster up enough courage to check your cell phone and/or social media device. Figure out how many friendships you destroyed. Make initial efforts to heal the wounds, or throw them all away. It depends on how much you drank, and how much horseshit your friends are willing to tolerate.
10:00 a.m.: Disturbed by knocking on your bedroom door. The rent's due again. Pay it, or, alternatively, think of some horseshit excuse that doesn't trick your room mates-let alone landlord-into giving you a one-day extension.
10:30 a.m.: Feel so elated about accomplishing the major feat of paying or ducking the rent that you manage to take a shower.
11:00 a.m.-noon: Make your way to your place of business. Wisecrack with your friends about last night's peccadillos, hiding the fact that you may have picked up an STD, and certainly should not be mixing with civilized humans at such an early hour.
1:00 p.m.-5:00 p.m.: Avoid a mountain of work. That mountain has been here since early May, but God knows that you adamantly refuse to start tunneling beneath it like a good gopher. Stare at it. Hate it. Feel reassured because it ain't going anywhere. Repeat.
~5:00 p.m.: Duck out of work as early as possible. Make your way to the local bar and/or cafeteria. Your friends-who have girlfriends (boyfriends), careers, and in general have a clear sense of real priorities, will meet you there soon.
~5:30 p.m.: Scream and shout about Marxism, the dialectic, and the newest, most awesomest punk records with above-said friends.
~8:00 p.m.: stumble home, reeking of beer and/or whiskey. Continue drinking while playing Cacaw or Black Flag (don't make no difference) at top volume.
~midnight: pass out in a pool of drool, sweat, and vomit. You should be too disgusted by yourself to be capable of forming coherent thoughts, by this point. In the unlucky and unlikely event that you are, however, they should be centered on the fixed idea of how dumb you are and how boring your dirtbag, degenerate life is.
CACAW IS PREEMO-PRIMO NOISE ROCK SWEETNESS, SHITBIRD.
*EDIT, 7.15.14: Just re-up'd the file, get it HERE*