I'm home... (and drunk!)

I'm home and I'm drunk, but it's not even 2:00 am so I may go back out again. But the point is this--I was just in the bathroom at Cheers and I pulled a note out of my bra that I wrote to myself. It read:

Hello, Hyde!!!

How unbelievable is it that you've had nearly 15 drinks and you STILL don't want to call him. That's not a sign of your tolerance for alcohol... That's a sign of how much he hurt you. HE HURT YOU!!!

DON"T FORGET IT!!!

That's when I decided to come home. I need to stay safe. I'm all fucking bruised right now. (My left cheek, my lower right arm, above my breasts and all over my neck). It's fucking embarassing. I want to resolve this with him in a way, but I know that would make it worse, so I'm trying not to. PumpedUp just let me leave w/o paying my tab. He's a sweetheart. But now what to do? Go to bed, or go out and find me some trouble?

I have a sunburn across the small of my back. I'm so fucking pale that the sun will fuck me up every time I leave the tiniest strip exposed. It fucking sucks.

Alright. Enough drunk blogging.

I'll be more diligent this week and catch you guys up on the events. Minus the gore of the Narc violence. I can't face that. Not even drunk.

Oh! Hammer just called me. (By the way, we made up!) She is having some exciting exploits down in D.C. She'll be back here by Monday though. Can't wait.

I've been sucking on a ring-pop all night. The worst thing about sucking on candy--the longer and harder you suck, the smaller it gets! (Doesn't that seem to go against instinct? And nature? Doesn't it?)

Later...

-H-

PS: 10 minutes later, and shit!!! I just sent him a text! I said:

Could you just leave my shirt w/ your doorman by Mon? I don't think we have anything to talk about beyond that. Lol always... -H