In which I’m a dumb ass.

Okay, so, I’m stupid. I’m not twenty any more, I’m thirty-fucking-seven fer chrissakes, and I have no idea what posessed me to go out and get drunk on a work night but I did.

Why am I drinking so much? Is this some weird form of cabin fever? God I’m ready for spring.

Anyway. Rehearsal ended three hours early because PjK had a wicked toothache (plus he probably wanted to watch the Oscars, the wench). So BvB and I went over to the Dead Cock for a drink since it was so early. She had one, I had two. Then Chef bought us shots. Then BvB left because she’s not a moron. Then Chef bought more shots. Then Long Island bought me a drink.

I talked about finding meaning through service with p-Kav. I talked about porn and sex with Chef. I talked about boyfriends and moving with Long Island. I drank two large glasses of water and left at nine. Then — and this is the truly gross part — I got food from McDonald’s and ate it. *shudder*

I went home, ravaged my husband (who was also drunk, btw), and passed right the hell out. Today I feel like my brain’s been very carefully packed in tissue and put somewhere I can’t find it. And I’m dehydrated.

And starving. I have to go find some lunch.