Wasted.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my eyes and all is born again."

-Sylvia Plath

I woke up.

Wait, I am, going to start that over.

I came to...on the couch. The clock declared it was 6:03 am. I was not one to argue.

The condition my condition was in explained the headache but little else.

Little needs to be clarified, as I couldn't if I tried, and my status upon re-entery into the world not tells but is, in my opinion, the story.

I awoke on the couch. I was supported by no pillow and covered with nothing, although a blanket was in reach. I was wearing a tee shirt I ordered online this Monday, from Digital Gravel, that depicts Forrest Gump wearing Jordans, and nothing else besides boxers (this is not the shirt I perused the city in, nor do I remember getting it, or putting it on). My wedding ring was installed on my pointer finger, of my right hand. A full cocktail, Blantons with a splash of ginger, sat on the coffee table in front of me, not a drop absent from it's initial pour. My cell phone sat adjacent, and blinked with the fury of many incoming calls, and 15 incoming texts told a story all it's own. Tums neighbored the cell phone, a 12 pack ripped completely apart exhibiting it's guts, the entirety of it's innards, and I could taste the chalky relief of the chosen few which met their doom just hours earlier. The television was on, but a bare black screen was the program of the hour (my first instinct was to label the tv a quitter as in past similar experiences Sportcenter would be bellowing at me at a volume unprecedented). And, last but not least, my dog sat at my feet....always loyal and on standby....but the look on her face pronounced what I already had feared...that my duty as a father retired unfulfilled the evening before...and the young lady was well overdue for a walk.

Water, let it be known, is my cocktail of choice this evening.