the_morning_after jane the morning after the alcohol is a slow one. waking up takes longer than it ever has, & every breath is a sandstorm in the desert of your mouth. you crave water, moisture, anything wet to cradle with your tongue. then you realize what you did last night. fuck. fuck. fuck. as with any important occurrence, you go through the steps in your head: that led to that led to that. how did we get there? alcohol has a way of making that happen. drunk dialing was always a bad idea. really bad. you can't remember what you said but it wasn't a nice conversation. so do you spend the morning after re-calling, saying, i'm sorry, i don't know what i said last night. forgive me, it was the liquor. is that an excuse anymore. it was her eyes, the way she brushed her hair back on her neck with two fingers. it was the cigarettes, the cigar, the moon.... just not me. we've got a lot of repairing to do. 050618 ... once a fanatic the morning after the alcohol is a slow one. watching those around you stir and groan as your brain quietly updates you on what your self did the_night_before. smiling and frowning in equal measure. swallowing pride and vowing denial. for me, i think it was the way that one of you, even in sleep, courteously turned away, whilst the other subconciously, lazily, stretched an arm across my body, pinning me down. where do we go from here? 050820 what's it to you? who go blather from