What a sight it must have been for my neighbors back on Garland Street: eyes rolled back in my skull, heaving hot dogs and Doritos at the base of my mailbox while my ex yells at me to come inside and brush my teeth because it's 3AM and we both have to work the next day. "Just bring me a pillow!" I holler and someone does. The story doesn't quite end there but I couldn't say what happened since the next thing I remember was waking up around noon. It was a gorgeous Spring day outside, I was in my boxers, and the bedsheets never felt cleaner. How I undressed myself and got in bed I don't know, but I felt surprisingly great.
So goes my first blackout! Later that day, my stomach boiled from the heat but the morning after still has a place as one of the most beautiful waking experiences of my life. It wasn't deserved after a night of such abuse: I later learned that I laid out a friend by socking him in the jaw on the way home from the bar. I also pissed on people's lawns, climbed buildings I didn't own, woke random friends up to party (all declined), and danced while my pals placed orange road construction barrels at the front doors of an entire neighborhood of houses. This only comes to mind because I've been completely sober for 11 or so days and every morning has been rrrrrough stuff.
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