I am squinty and achey today with a whopping hell of a hangover. PJ made me another goddamned drink for breakfast saying it would help but I just teetered away from the table wondering what it would feel like to be sober again someday, if it ever happens again. At this rate it will be sometime in the new year.
2017, I'm coming for you.
At least, I think I am.
I walked right into Sam, and in spite of the fresh booze infusion he put his arms around me and I pointed out we were ten days into the tenth year without Jake and this is a milestone of a different sort. This one really screams MOVE ALONG NOW or stop being paralyzed by his memories, stop playing house (or at least bed) with his best friend and pull your bootstraps up already, Pigalet.
Fuck that. Imma wallow instead. In the mud. Like a piglet. Jake would be so proud. I've done so much with my life. I conquered a whole house full, a whole army full of men who all wondered if they would be the one at some point or another and in the end I made sure a lot of them knew precisely how much trouble I would be. I remained mired in a disaster from a long time ago and I'm still the cause of every bit of strife in my world. I'm still attempting to take on fully half of a bottle of alcohol to save Lochlan/prevent a worser disaster only to end up a disaster in my own right and I still couldn't fight off the Devil with a wooden spoon.
I just need to get rid of this headache. Sam tells me to go crash in his room where it's quiet and since he's going to be back in less than a couple hours he'll bring us some fancy coffee and that, coupled with the nap, will help.
But I am drunk and inappropriate and totally fucking shameless so I crack a joke about something else helping more, since I'll be already drunk and in his bed and he blushes like he's never blushed before and gives me a quick kiss on the forehead before he's gone.
He didn't say no, though, so there's that.
