I really want to say last Saturday was terrible because I was woken up early and only got 4 hours of sleep. I really want to say that I resent that person who woke me up and that it was a one-time thing that I refuse to ever let happen again.
I really want to say it, and mean it.
Except here it is, the very next Saturday, and once again I was up until 6 am, once again I woke up four hours later and couldn't go back to sleep.
I'm going to have to figure a way to rig up curtains that block the early morning sun, so maybe I can sleep off the hangover in peace next time.
But okay, so here's what happened. In hopes of getting shitty drunk last night, I left Brent's friendly chill party to find a raging kegger on Franklin. It was awful, so we picked up some boys, bought a flat of Pabst, and proceeded to drink ourselves silly in the middle of the living room floor.
Here's a question: Why don't I ever sit on the roof? It's prime chill spot. Actually, the answer's simple. Weather's shitty. As soon as it's warm again...
Yesterday I ate decadent chocolate cake at the Colophon Cafe with Allison. We talked about boys, and travel, and spanish, and boys. And we devoured that piece of cake. It stood no chance in the face of our post-economics chocolate craving.