The Morning After

Gulp.

What did I DO last night?

My memory has once again failed me the morning after. Not to my surprise, once again, I have left a trail of evidence for myself to discover the following morning.

Laptop history from last night says I tried joining a dating website under the username IAmNOTAllergicToYou. Oh boy. La-di-da-di-da. I'll just delete the profile and then this little five hour "phase" in my life has been erased. There, much better.

Wait, what's this? I've uncovered yet another "secret" gem: YouTube reveals my brother, his fiance, and I made a karaoke video wherein I'm the star of the remake to "I'm Too Sexy."

I'm scared to search further.

"Shannon, you're super funny when you're like that," my brother reveals to me as I make my public appearance for the day, "you need to be like that every night."

I cringe inside that my impaired judgment could have led my body to participate in such activities. Gosh. It's at this moment that I've made yet another grim discovery. Not only was I cringing on the inside. I was cringing on the outside, as well. A bruise shines brightly on my arm, from bumping into walls from last night's stagger.

I check my phone to further investigate last night's escapade and discover that I made a phone call at 12:30 in the morning. Who knows what the crap I said? Oh, that's right, the owner of the voicemail does. I hope I didn't say anything too revealing or embarrassing, but being under this substance kind of warps your mind. 

Now this is getting interesting.

"Do you still find that one joke funny?" My brother asks, "because you couldn't stop laughing at it last night?"

"What joke?"

"What does a gay horse eat? Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaay."

Oh, dear. I'm in worse shape than I thought.

"Or, how about this one: Why did the toilet paper roll down the hill?" He's just teasing me now.

"Why?"

"To get to the bottom!" He says with a grin.

No. Now I'm in worse shape than I thought.

Trying to get away from real-life, I step into my grandma's room. She's pretty entertaining. Maybe she can lead my mind away from my last night's behaviors.

"Hi, Shannon. Did you have a good night last night?" She asks with enthusiasm.

"Yeah...I slept well."

"Good. Because I have plenty more where that came from--let me know if you want anymore. I want to give some to your mom, but she won't take it. You should talk her into using it."

"Okay," I lied.

The Seinfeld theme song goes off. I've received a text. No, wait, my phone's just reminding me that I have unread texts.

"I'm glad you didn't drive here last night in that state of mind," my friend had lovingly texted me.

Surely my judgment was impaired--but to want to drive somewhere under that condition, go out in public like that. I couldn't be more ashamed of myself...

...when I'm on Ambien.