Practice What You Preach

    Shoot me. Please. I have the worst hang over known to man.

    Okay, the short story:

    I was out with Catalina and I had a bit too much to drink because I’m emotionally wrecked (or maybe I was just thirsty) and she tried to drink me under the table. Ironically, I have no idea who won that battle.

    “We’re only trapped when we feel like we’re inside something we can’t get out of,” she rambled. (She becomes awfully deep when she’s drunk. And incoherent. She's like me when I'm sober if you don't count being deep.)

    “I’d rather be trapped inside than outside if I gotta be trapped at all,” I reasoned. “What if it rains?”

    “Who said it’s locked anyway?” she kept going, disregarding my profound comment.

    “What?”

    “The door.”

    “There’s a door?”

    “Well, there must be a door if you're trapped, right? But who says it’s locked? You could just walk out whenever you feel like it.”

    “In theory. Are we in a room?”

    “I think we’re at the club.”

    And that conversation kept going until she (or I, can’t remember which) collapsed under the table, and I/she couldn’t stop thinking about this unlocked, trapped room we were in. And I’m not completely sure we were actually at a club.

    Maybe that was the long story?

    So, this morning, she showed up outside my door without looking like a hung over, grumpy sea-lion. Instead she shoved me away from the door and ran off to see if I had anything to wear for our date tonight. She is wearing me out.

    I wonder how single life feels? I can't remember ever having dated at any point. I’ve never been single. Unless you count the clueless years before I figured out that I liked Catalina enough to date her. I didn’t even know that I wanted to date until she showed up. I mean, I've been attracted to other girls before her, but at no point did I consider asking them out.

    I have to say that having a girlfriend is kind of nice. I know that she’s always going to be there, and I know I’ll always have someone to turn to, to come home to. What I'm most afraid of when it concerns our relationship is that I'm going to fuck something up, like getting her pregnant or something.

    I could definitely live without those worries. Ha, as if I could ever... Maybe I should ask, just in case? Just because I love her doesn’t mean I’m ready for a child. Yuck. The thought is too disturbing.

    Right now, all I want to do is to lie down and complain. Whimper a little maybe. And maybe throw up a little later.

    As a bright young lady once said: Hang overs suck.

PART #3
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