I took yesterday on with not one but two cups of coffee with cream and a cookie I knew damned well included trans fats. Then I went to (mostly paleo) dinner and had two glasses of wine which I'm sure contained roofies. George Michael on the restaurant stereo made me cry. So did Bruce Springsteen. Later, it was Family Dance Party with the Pogues, the Village People, Stiff Little Fingers and Dexy's (Goddamn) Midnight Runners. Lots of jumping around; more exercise than I had had in days. Followed by Facebook overposting and vivid sad dreams in which I discovered that a former lover had had his portrait drawn by Jaime Hernandez. I woke up (you guessed it:) crying. You see, people, I got drunk and teleported back to 1991 and IT WAS NO GOOD. For the love of Benji, regimenting makes me crazy. Lack of planning makes me crazy. PMS makes me crazy. Apparently two slugs of Folie a Deux make me crazy. Being sick and mothering while my partner is traveling doesn't help. But seriously- what fucking dumb choices I made yesterday.
I wake up today a little shamed and I feel on some level, Now that's more like it.