Yo, okay, so I have a lot of memories from nights during which I consumed alcohol. Some good, some bad. However, this one memory popped into my head today and it is very innocent and therefore one of my favorites.
Me. Walking home from Finn MacCool's. Alone.
I remember the night - ish. I had had a tough day at work (who hasn't?) and had recently made some pretty big life changes. I was with my roommate T and after a couple G&T's we decided to continue drinking as quickly and as heavily as we could manage. Wise decision, I know. After a little Crown Royal, a free t-shirt, and a tear filled confession-esque conversation I left the bar.
This is the good part.
I popped in my headphones and cranked Kansas as loud as I could. (Loud enough that the next afternoon while crawling to work I actually yelped when the music first started blaring . . . yes, yelped.) And then? Then I started singing. Lil' ol' me. Walking down University Avenue at 1 or so A.M. singing top. of. my. lungs. To Kansas and I sang all the way home.
In retrospect I should be embarrassed but in reality I am so in love with the person who did that.
I mean, really, of all the things I could have done that night - all the directions I could have taken that last Whisky shot - I sang Carry on my Wayward Son for 10 blocks?
I'm, like, totally awesome.
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