A hungover morning

I woke up this morning in a painful haze with swirling ceilings and heat. Sleep had been reduced to a meager couple of hours as I had to wait up for S____ to get home. She locked herself out and I wasn't around to let her in at Midnight when she got home. She almost had to sleep at her office. I felt awful.

Sadly though, I wasn't in much of a condition to remember. 4 or 5 tall whiskeys, and a couple of beers will do that to a guy. It was supposed to be a light night. Isn't that how the stories usually start. C___ and I agree to meet for a beer, V___ comes by, whiskey comes out, and we end up hitting Smith's Point dancing begins with a motley crew of reporters and lawyers.

It started out so promisingly too with light banter and idle conversations. Talks about Politics and Incas and lost Jews and ended up being about everything by the end of the night. Actually, in the interests of honesty, the night ended with conversations about genetics as well, but that conversation was had on the dance floor at the point. and very drunkenly. But it's not often you grab a dance partner at a ditzy republican bar who knows genetics.

And there was wine and women to be had for everyone. Everyone but C__ and I . C____ went home drunk and early. He wanted to bail before but he stayed, overstayed really. After a couple spilled beers he agreed that he should stagger across the bridge and back to his pad. While others searched out companions or company I merely danced.

It's a little like the Anansi Stories, the ones that say just because they're his stories he doesn't always win them in the end.

Now I sit in a coffee shop writing scripts and hoping that sobriety and sanity finds me here. I certainly am not in shape to go looking for it.