shot

the week unfolds with me in bed, short on sleep from a party last night. sangria all night, and then a couple of vodkas with sangria-infused citrus fruit slices. pretty. sleepy. rolled in around 5. slept (i thought) til 10. when i woke, bf informed me that i insisted someone “give me ONE more ice cube,” as well as other unintelligible and random drunken slurs. rats. i thought i’d done well by getting myself home, recalling all the moments at the end of the party in james’ living room: me mixing drinks for daria, russell, chris, and the photog with the evil flash. james changing the music. tiana (my designated driver) with her frosty gloss, closed eyelids, and taurus feet snuggled into my lap. good times. on the home front, the kid talked on the phone to my bff’s tween daughter til abt 2am while bf surfed, then slept. sometimes i don’t like my mother. more accurately, sometimes my mother still manages to hurt my feelings, leave me, an otherwise competent and aggressive person, feeling wounded. rejected. etc. and i don’t like it. she is in town. kind of. she and her sister, who live together, drove from memphis to my state, stopping off 4 hours across the state to visit my cousin, then bypassing the scheduled stop at my place to head directly to our hometown without so much as a phone call from my mother. my mother…perhaps the reason i drink. doubtful though. that would be a cheap shot. no pun intended.