Nothing a few drinks didn't help.
I walk into my room, disoriented, heels in hand, at around 3 in the morning. My roommate is asleep, I think. I slip off my dress and crawl into bed in my panties, thinking to myself, half asleep, "life is amazing." Over and over again I repeat this to myself, I don't know why and I don't care. It seems appropriate at the moment. Jen, Stephen, Josh and I have been drinking. We've been confessing and hugging and watching one another puke for the last few hours.
(I can't escape feeling affection for someone who has been vulnerable to me, has vomited in front of me, has trusted my judgement and my motor functions.)
My roommate starts laughing in her sleep (or maybe she isn't asleep) - a laugh that could either mean malice or delight, I can't tell which, but I imagine her, in her dream, meeting a big, happy, purple dragon, or a group of pretty, yellow fairies who look like flowers and that is why she's so happy; these things make her happy and that makes all the sense in the world. I am conscious of the fact that Stephen is breathing above me, Josh is breathing almost directly beneath me, and Jen is two floors beneath him. I'm conscious of their contrasting energies still acting upon mine, of their thought patterns coloring my ideas. I feel connected to each of them at this moment in the same the way that a stingray is electrically cognizant of its prey. And everything seems to make sense for a little while, everything fits illogically into place. Maybe that's just what whiskey does to me.
When I wake up the next morning, I am no wiser for any of this, but there is a drop of blood in my panties.
That was my morning, and if that doesn't make any sense to you, well, it's everything I didn't say that's important.