What I Done

Last night, in honour of Terri's Dad having returned from Fort Mac for vacation, we were the celebratory work night revelers. There was beer and wine and Olympics and Van and Gordon and grotesque amounts of lobster and ah, howdoyousay, Coquilles St. Jacques. I got drunk off cans of Keith's Light, which took some effort, and we watched the cocky Chinese gymnasts with stupid hair destroy the competition. Swapped nationalities aside, it was like watching the first 2/3rds of The Karate Kid. We made fun of Ron MacLean's hair. Terri almost cried when the German kid fell off the high bar. We bemoaned our lack of motivation as children to become Olympians. We blamed our parents. My palms are riddled with punctures from those damned spiny red claws, and my fridge is packed with an obscene amount of leftovers.

Today, despite having gone to bed an hour before everyone else, my body is punishing me for all of the rich food and bad beer. And I am slipping back into coffee dependency. Mmm, coffee.