Tired

Last night I was beyond being tired. After a week of hard work and some bullshit here and there, the first day of my weekend was spent in my cubicle working for the man. All day behind my computer, going through files, updating shit and doing some work. By the end of the day I was very tired, but didn't realized how tired I really was until later that evening.

After taking a shower, ironing my short and heading for a friend's birthday party, I found my self in front of plenty of appetizers, liquor, beer, wine, sangria, food and loud music. Few known faces showed up and we all started drinking; later on some more people came and the drinking got heavier. Some of them were tall, some short; some girls were slightly overweight and some were thin; some of them -actually one of them- had a pair of breasts that didn't let me blink for quite a few minutes and her blonde hair needed to be dyed again, as the dark roots were becoming too evident.

By then my Usual Redbull Vodka had been sitting on the kitchen counter untouched, and all the different brands of beers that I tried tasted like cold medicine. The food was good, but my appetite was gone and the only thing that I had in my mind was my bed. While everybody was making plans to go to a club, I was trying to find an easy way out and back to my condo without rising too many complaints from everybody. The time to go to the club came and even though there was plenty of girls, and the alcohol consumption had been pretty good, my bed was calling me and it was irresistible.

On my way back home I was falling asleep at the wheel, and once I got to my condo I could barely put my PJ's on, brushed my teeth and get under the blankets before falling into a coma-type of sleep. They all made fun of me telling me that I wasn't tired, but that Steffi was waiting for me therefore I wanted to leave.

If that was the case, I would have never left home in the first place.