I’m afraid I was that girl last night. You know the one. She gets loud and silly. And starts hugging everyone. And making new best friends. And forming plans for future good times that she won’t remember thinking up the next day. And at the end of the night her friends help her wobbling ass to the car and drive her home.
So that was me.
After my friends got me safely tucked in, the high of the night came crashing down. As I lay curled up in bed, my demons of years past came clawing to the surface. Old wounds I thought had healed began seeping.
And I must have written about it. Because I checked my phone this morning and, low and behold, I posted last night. I sort of remember reaching for my phone in the dark, the blue glow offering some semblance of connection. But I did not remember writing anything, much less posting it!
So the words that came forth last night can only be classified as drunk blogging. Reading in the bright light of day I see how many insecurities I mask daily… and I hide them so well I’m often able to fool myself.
Looks like the recipe for stripping all that away is a bottle and a half of wine on an empty stomach.