Last night I went out and got rip-roaringly drunk with some friends of mine from school. There was pool (which I am bad at), some kind of punching-bag game (which I got alarmingly engaged with) and a jukebox that grew more and more fantastic as I got progressively drunker. At one point I was on a stage doing goofy dance routines with two other women--one a stranger, and the other the designated driver, who was doing all this stone-cold sober, so she gets major props.
When I woke up this morning, my dancing clothes were on the floor, the top and shorts and high heels all lined up and kind of rolled onto themselves, as though I'd lain on the floor and then sort of wiggled out of them, like a snake shedding old skin. It was a good night.