Today I feel rather dry.

Note: I WILL be finishing this later. I mean it too...


It's 12:30 and I wake up still very drunk.
The sun warms my room. It's light crawls up my walls and illuminates all my junk. The socks and bottle caps and loose change and pens that litter my carpet all seem to sing and glow under the new day's sun.
I have no recollection of what happened yesterday, but with sobriety my memories would return. I drift to sleep as I considering watching porno.

It's 1:03 and I wake up nauseous and dizzy.
This feeling had become uncomfortably familiar to me these last few months. The hangover had begun. The Norwegian called this condition Veisalga, which translates to uneasiness after debauchery. I sling my pillow across the room and switch it out with a colder one. I should start putting pillows in the fridge I thought. Up until 2 weeks ago I only had one pillow but this girl I was seeing convinced me to buy 3 new ones. I bought a whole new damn bedroom set for us to share and the whore starts dating her ex again. I laid there heartbroken and draped in Martha Stewart’s sheets. I remember something about a stolen cake, a Brazilian girl and cocaine. What weird and hazardous sins had I committed last night.

It's 1:33 and I need headache medicine.
I stumble out of my room and into the kitchen. I'm bare foot and none of my roommates vacuum, so I am cautious. I notice a bottle of vodka on the kitchen counter. Next to it is water bottle that is about half full of a dark liquid. Rum? Whiskey? Bourbon? I scratch my head as I ponder dark liquor and it's miracles. If God is a dentist, then dark liquor is his Novocain (beer is the fluoride rinse and women are cavities.) The back of my head is struck with a sharp pain and I am reminded of Advil. I take two, pour myself a glass of water and retreat for my bed.

It's 1:45 and I'm awaken by my phone ringing.
My head feels like there are river dancers stomping around in it. I answer the phone and Jordan’s tell me to open the door. I do and he and Mop Top barge in grinning and eager to go to Dairy Queen. I explain to them that my eye sockets burn and every single noise I hear sounds like pots and pans banging, so naturally ice cream cones and over salted fries were out of the question. I ask them about the details of last night. They tell me that a large group of us went to Dairy Queen and stole two cakes. Memories slowly reappear from obscurity. I ask them about the Brazilian girl. They have no idea what I'm talking about. They leave and I return to my coma.

It's 2:28 and I'm discouraged.
I'm still in pain and the sun I had embraced and praised before seemed to annoy me. I close my blinds and cruse the fire ball. I thought about the cake heist. Me, Jordan, and Mop Top were accompanied by a tight knit group of hoodlums we called friends. There was an alcoholic Texan, a kid who had just gotten off of parole who was smoking his brain a loose in celebration, a Vietnamese-Jew who spoke perfect Spanish and sold cocaine. Two pot dealers and a pot head also accompanied us to that urban…..