The Morning After

3 Oct

Last night, a couple of friends and I went out with the deliberate aim of drunken escapism. Phones were on silent mode, tucked into our purses, and conversation was trashing exes, hilarious 20’s sex stories, and general ridicule of anything or anyone that got in our way.

I got back to an empty home past midnight, my Boy at his dad’s finally, giving me time to be just me for a minute. But at 1:00 am, in my bed, alone, I had a horrible urge to drunk-text an ex, any ex, anyone with a penis basically, just so that I wouldn’t have to be alone in my bed.

The funny thing about escapism is that as good as it feels when you’re there, that’s how sucky it feels when it’s over. You open your eyes in the morning and your post alcohol headache reminds you that you’re not in your 20’s anymore. Your best friend is still sick, and your ex is still an idiot, and your bed is still empty. And as much as catching up on sleep is grand and necessary, it takes a whole lot more convincing to get out of bed in the morning, when you don’t have an adorable two-year-old pulling at your pajamas at 6 am asking for cornflakes with milk and a story about Fireman Sam.


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