The other morning I woke up, mouth dry, skin puffy and crying out for moisturizer, my brain scrambling to adjust to the harsh reality of afternoon. I started preparing my smoothie in my mind — blueberries, bananas, yoghurt — adding the ingredients until my mouth started to produce fluid. I got up. I stumbled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen (what up Dolly!) and prepared my miracle drink. The whir of the blender made me stumble to the bathroom for an Advil, where I looked at myself in the mirror. Gasp. The horror. I smoothed my hair off my face and noticed a huge bruise on my wrist. What the? I flashed back to the evening before. Me sitting with a friend at the bar - drinks - oysters - more drinks - oh blahblah is here, yeah! - more drinks - hey there's blahblah and she brought blahblah with her - oh I love this song, let's dance - more drinks - let's share a smoke - ooh that blahblah is cute - more drinks - I can't believe blahblah just did that - more drinks - leave with blahblah - make out with blahblah - leave blahblah's - stumble into taxi - stumble up the stairs - stumble into bed. Hmm. I was stumped. It could have been from anything! I couldn't figure it out until I went to write an email and as my wrist touched down on the desk I realized the bruise was from hitting the bar. Drink to my lips - drink down on bar - wrist hits bar - repeat 17 million times. Yikes, I was so embarrassed and thought I should reserve my spot at rehab! Then I thought, meh, it could be worse, it could be a bruise on my ass from sitting too much on a bar stool, I mean, at least I got around.
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