Look out, you rock n' rollers

Back to school, back to all that entails, the apathy and boredom, the longing, all the commiseration, the mistakes and the drinking, drinking, drinking. Ryan Spain blew back into town in the rain, and we set off once again on that self-destructive road to oblivion. This weekend obviously we were too intoxicated for me to do much writing but now I am going to change that.

Drinking story, to be mixed with an account of the weekend.

So Friday Ryan and I set out to complete the Trifecta, that is, a flask of liquor, a bottle of wine, and a sixpack of beer each. Well we didn't quite make it, as after the wine (which we drank far too quickly) we both started throwing up, and though I don't remember much of this (Matt had to recount most of it for me) I do remember that I threw up for practically forever, and was in no shape to continue, though Ryan wanted to. I ended up having to wash my sheets, and I managed to forget about them and ask matt five times where they were, five minutes or so passing between each inquiry. I then managed to make my bed, though I don't remember doing it, but I definitely put the sheets on upside down. We may try again next week, and be more careful in our pacing. Friday was a lot of fun otherwise, as I hadn't been that drunk in a long time.

Yet the highlight (lowlight?) of the weekend was last night, at Mallet's long-awaited Pirate Party, where Brian did his best to get me stupid drunk and for the most part succeeded, and I had to fight down the bile towards the end of the evening but mainly kept it together. I had to try not to throw up, either. Seeing some people just makes it hard, wondering where things went wrong, realizing that it was me, always has been, always was me who fucked it up. I was reminded of when I was leaving, going back home, and she kissed me hard and I promised to be hers until the bruises faded.

And even though it was just a couple little marks, there was still a genuine sense of loss when they were gone.