Saturday Morning

I wish I could find a place that would deliver a nice ham and cheese sandwich, and maybe a cup of split pea soup.  I'm mildly hung over, hungry, not in the mood to cook anything, not dressed, and with no desire to change my situation.

I need a deli that delivers.

This living room is covered with flecks of dried drink.  I think I broke a glass, but I don't remember.  One is in the sink, both shotglasses, and one is MIA.  Ah well, when I step on glass, I'll have my answer.

This is how every Saturday morning goes, more or less.  I try to recreate the night before, by going through chat logs, and posts on the boards.  I'm always hoping I didn't do anything really embarassing. 

So strange, though, because I actually PREFER to do this sort of thing, on weekends.  We're too broke to go out, like we used to, and we really can't anyway, with no one to watch Alden.  It's either do this drunk, or sober.  Drunk is much more entertaining, but the cleanup is a bitch.

I asked myself this a few months ago.  Am I an alcoholic?  No.  But, I keep checking, just in case.