Back home and sitting in my bed. For some reason my house always smells like old wood when no one has been in it for a few days. Not in a cute way. In a gross old lady way.

I partied more this weekend than I have all year, 
squeezing consecutive twenty-hour shifts of hanging out, drinking,
 music, friends, family, and conversations I can’t remember.

You know, the sort of thing 
that makes you oddly understand cocaine addiction.

(Mom, Dad. Don’t worry. I [surprisingly] didn’t consume any illegal substances while I was out there. I didn’t even take any of that Xanax that isn't mine. I didn't even smoke weed! Instead, I almost OD’d on Green Tea! Be proud!)

(Wait. Just remembered. There was one Xanax. It gave me that 3 hour nap and then 5 hour nap afterwards. And then the gusto to drive 45 minutes to pick up my jacket that I absentmindedly left somewhere like a trashy idiot who ran out barefoot. I ran out of someone's house barefoot this weekend. With my hair extensions hanging out of my purse. Because I wear hair extensions when I want to feel extra beautiful. I'm an object in America's beauty machine, sorry!)

The point is I’m tired and have had the longest weekend trying to find myself and process my emotions while simultaneously creating those emotions.

Really puts a wrench in my self-deprecation hustle.