Sometimes I hate being the one who holds his alcohol well.
I turn down giggling suggestions in order to keep the kids company.
Sailor Moon, incidentally, makes no more sense when you are drunk. She still needs to put on a pair of goddamned pants.
I get to put the kids to bed and tell them mom would kiss them goodnight if she were awake.
I get to keep an eye on the fire until it dies down. How romantic.
I lock the doors, each wavering pair of them.
I post half-coherent thoughts. I carefully correct each typo.
I wonder if I can hack a few lines of code tonight because drunk as I am I’m not nearly ready to sleep.
I check my contact list, and see the friends who tried to contact me before they retired at a more sensible hour. Sleep well.
I wallow in self-pity.