roads? where we’re going, we don’t need… roads.


“How ya doin, Liz?” Keith asked when he came downstairs Friday morning.

My only reply was an indeterminate moan.

“That good, huh?”

I grunted in reply, twisting a bit on the loveseat I’d been curled up on for a few hours so I could at least see him.

“How long ya been up?”

“Three hours. My head feels like it’s about to asplode.”

We’d gotten back to Keith and Michelle’s at about four thirty that morning from a raucous night of fun; good conversation, many good drinks, awesome people. I’d promptly passed out in “my” bed, only to wake up barely five hours later with a head fit to asplode and low blood sugar. Figures. I even begged my liver to kick in for a few minutes and produce some glucose so I could just go back to sleep. This is my version of a hangover: a ‘sploding head and practically zero sleep.

At one point the night before, I’d mentioned to someone–and I don’t remember who–that I had no plans for the next day and would likely end up camped out on Keith and Michelle’s couch til three the next afternoon.

I headed home about three thirty. So… close enough.


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