The Morning After

I woke up cautiously, one bleary eye at a time, cracking open like iron doors nearly vacuumed shut by centuries of rust. There was my misbehaving phone, my rings and watch on the night stand, my keys. And there was my bare chest spilling over the blanket’s edge. Oh no. I knew I’d acted a total fool last night and the nakedness was not a good sign. My head still spun from the shots a friendly bartender had slung my way between pitchers of shitty beer and my stomach ached from the food I hadn’t eaten. I was going to kill him for this, couldn’t he see how drunk I was? Where was the stern “I’m cutting you off buddy” line that bartenders in movies always busted out? Never mind that I was the one pouring every last ounce down my throat, I needed someone to blame for this ridiculousness. But unless he was the one pressed up against my naked ass, I’d have to face the music all by my onesie. Finally, I rolled over to make sense of the damage…and smacked head-first into the cold, white wall. My wall, in my bedroom, where I was lying naked, with a bloody nose…alone.

If it wasn’t for the blood painting my lips a darling shade of crimson and the alcohol still bathing my addled brain, I would have danced in delight. I may have acted like an eighteen-year-old sorority girl at her first kegger last night, tweeting about money falling out of my bra, wrapping my arms around some random guy, and taking a few ridiculous pictures with a friend’s shiny new iPad. But the semi-responsible twenty-something who’s had more nights out than she can count somehow prevailed. As I stumbled into the gloomy light of a snowy afternoon, I marveled at the things I’d managed to do while drunk off my rocker: lay my nice dress over the back of a chair instead of leaving it crumpled on the floor, plug in my phone, put my computer bag neatly on a chair instead of chucking it wherever, brush my teeth, take out my contacts, neatly put away my jewelry, have a snack to absorb a token amount of alcohol, and tuck myself neatly into bed. Sure, it wasn’t perfect. I still couldn’t muster the coherence or energy to wash my makeup off and I’d managed to break my favorite necklace, untangling it from a wicked knot. But I’m lucky enough to still have decent skin that endures a lot of punishment and the necklace could be fixed. What had me overjoyed was the thing that sent me spiraling against my bedroom wall: I was alone in my own apartment.

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