When I came to work this morning I was all optimistic and looking forward to my potentially insanely social weekend and despite having made the choice to stay up until 1am editing poetry I felt fairly good about where my day was headed.
I am not any longer.
Thankfully I just have to endure one hour of hell followed by a few hours surrounded by people I'm not so thrilled to be surrounded by but during which I get to wantonly consume as much tequila and good Mexican food as I can possibly handle.
I have no idea what time I'll actually be making my way back home but I suspect I might find Peter in a tequila soaked state himself as last I heard his plan involved trying to be in the "same state" I will be in. Stumby wumbly and ready to go to sleep is what I'm aiming for.
Tomorrow I run 2 miles, go out for lunch with my gayboyfriendMichael at Journeyman, and then maybe Raleigh and/or Kevdek may be in town which sounds pretty fantabulous to me.
One hour of hell and few hours of tequila.
It could be worse.
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