The weekend falls back into a bit of a haze. There was a lot of drinking, a lot of whiskies ordered alongside a lot of beers. A lot of headaches suffered and snooze buttons hit. Saturday morning it took a few moments to realise the remains of pizza on the table were the remains of MY pizza.
I performed in front of hundreds of people Saturday night, still suffering from Friday. Then the pub beckoned and back I went. Friendly faces appeared and we opened a bottle or two of wine. A shitty band took the stage and seemed incapable of using their instruments with shrieks of feedback. The only sanctuary was beer and banter and then, when the noise became unbearable, an escape to Aikman's and more beers - this time with whisky chasers. Just like Friday. Someone stole my Red Sox hat. The barman called time.
I wandered home hatless in the cold, refusing to succumb to pizza a second night. I got home and found my stolen hat on my bed. I drank a beer I didn't need and snacked on cheese and salami.
Now Monday's here and the coffee tastes good. I baked bread and wrote and cooked some lunch. Whatever I needed out of my system seems gone for now and there's quite a lot to do. Fuzzy memories and fresh baked bread, the echoes of laughter and the bemusement of all that's passed are not a bad way to start the week.