In which I drop off the face of the earth for an entire goddamned day just like I used to do in college.

Nasty Little Whore made these awesome pizza things for dinner Monday night: oven roasted portabella mushrooms with pizza sauce and cheese on them. Yum. I ate nearly two of them.

We watched Jon Stewart and then the Colbert Report on TiVo, then sat on her couch under cuddly throws and talked and talked and talked. It was well past ten when I made it home.

Yesterday I took an apparently much-needed mental health day. (Entirely by accident, yo.) I woke up groggy well past noon, with all three dogs staring intently at me because they wanted to go out. Then I spent half an hour trying to get a damned fire started because the house was freezing. By then it was pushing one o’clock; I emailed work saying, “Just slept 14 hours. Day’s half over. Calling in ‘sick’.”

I did not go to Amazon Blonde’s house for bloody marys, even though she sent me a phone pic of the ingredients sitting on her counter and told me she’d be home a little before five.

I even managed to blow off band practice last night, too. Didn’t call, just dozed off on the couch scratching Bread’s back while he watched The Sopranos. (He came home last night and left again this morning for CR.)

Apparently I was tired. Or maybe I was just lame. Today I have that vague feeling of embarassed remorse one gets from blatantly flaking out on one’s responsibilities. I always thought I’d outgrow this lame streak, but apparently I’m never going to.

In other news, I slept in again this morning and didn’t have time to take a shower. I am going to make time, however, to run over to 2nd Street and get a double latte.