Maeghan Jo Kimball
I’m hung over again.
Or maybe it should be still. I can't remember the last time I was sober. As I pay my respects this morning to the god of porcelain, it occurs to me that I should try to wake up sober from time to time. Since I'm lying on the tile floor, I must have made it back to my hotel at some point last night. My watch reads four pm, but I know that can't be right. The watch hasn't worked in months and I only keep wearing it because if I take it off I don't have a watch. I carefully crawl out of the bathroom to the nightstand where the alarm and phone are. They both read 1:37 pm. too late for continental breakfast, but there may be coffee in the lobby. Of course, I was supposed to check out 37 minutes ago, so coffee may be a no go anyway. My phone is also flashing telling me that everyone is looking for me. Seven missed calls, four voice mails, and six text messages. I don't bother to answer them, no point. I know what they are. It's the band looking for me and getting ready to lecture me about my responsibilities.
I slid into the shower, knowing that they would figure out I was in the room sooner or later. Very rarely do I pull the girl card, but today was one of those days where they were going to wait for me.