I seriously need to stop--STOP--going out drinking on weeknights. last night I went to see The Streets and over the course of beforehand drinking, the show (which was a quick but great one), and after-show drinking, I think I had about 6 beers. this, after having a small dinner of broccoli and bread (that's pretty funny to me right now but it's really what I ate last night because was too lazy to make an effort). duh duh duh. I mean, it was great fun to be sure. Megan and I chatted away and I talked to The Streets bassist for a bit but then all of a sudden--WHAMMO. I was knackered, as they say. Megan kept asking me if I was alright because when I'm very drunk I often just sit or stand still with no expression on my face, scanning the crowd with wobbly eyes (mostly thinking, "why did I do this and how can I help it go away and do I look like an ass and why is that gentleman staring at me and..."). finally I realized if I stayed a moment longer I was going to be in deep doo-doo so I said goodbye to Meg (who had found a guy friend) and trundled out the door.

I was really dreading the possibility of having to walk the whole way home from Metro (I only had $1 on me and didn't want to take any cash for a cab from Megan or from my bank account) but then the trusty Clark bus came by the time I'd gotten to Addison and I boarded my chariot, the only non-hobo out of the 5 total passengers. the driver spotted my wristband from the show and asked if I'd just gotten out of the hospital. I laughed "no," and plodded to a seat. to my knowledge, not very many patients leave the hospital stinking drunk and smoky, but that's just me.

I fucking love the bus sometimes, especially the ones that take me so close to my home, and especially the ones that come right when I want them to. it's like my fervent wish to have a floating, mobile chair for instantaneous travel comes true.

I didn't get home till about 1:30, still stone cold drunk, and it was a bitch getting up this morning. I excised my normal exercise because no one likes a pukey and disoriented workout. I get so mad at myself on mornings like this. it's like I really enjoy the punishment of a 6:30am wake-up call so why not make it more agonizing by injesting a buttload of alcohol in a short period of time and then getting 5 or less hours of sleep? what can I say? I guess I'm a whore for the good times.