Back last night from a weekend in Memphis now to sloth through the painful hours of a Monday morning. I am not embracing its new day promises, rather I scowled at its sunrise. If ever I have wanted to stay in bed, this morning was the epitome of such. I am so sleepy - even the marrow of my bones is tired. I shouldn't have tarried till 4am in the Beale St. bars with all of the beer and booty music. No, I should have and I did and it was rich - migrating from one fine establishment to another with a pack of girls.
Oh!, the sanctity of a night and the Beale St. beer and booty music. Sometimes even the classiest of girls needs a period of raw ridiculousness. The high points will go down in the eternal list of remember-whens, but will be omitted from the public eye. True incrimination would not be their product, yet they're best left to pad the walls of the verbal histories that later leave us weeping with laughter over Cracker Barrel biscuits and hangover hot tea.
[I should have napped in my car between classes instead of writing...]