Sour sangria sunday

I should be drunk right now. I should be at least buzzed, something, anything, yet I’m not. It’s Sunday, or at least it was, which calls for sangrias because it starts with an s and I was drunk when I first started this tradition. Despite my attempt to finish only 3 glasses, my friend and I left the bar to catch up with an old friend.
My arrival is still not what I expected. I honestly feel the earth never stopped spinning minus for myself. I feel stuck to the point where my alcohol didn’t work.
My friend now has a child, which is fantastic, he’s a wonderful man. The baby is adorable and as the world saw a new life, my horrible mind saw my time slipping from under me. I saw failure. I would be the only person in the room staring at a child having a midlife crisis, again.
Since the sangrias failed I needed the one sure thing I could control, sex. I needed a familiar person and being a week in the city I only know of my ex. He didn’t seem into it. I wasn’t looking for an emotional visit, I was looking for sex.
Like I said, I should be drunk, I shouldn’t be sitting
here contemplating about masturbation or life.
Must sleep so I can go to hall of records so I can prove my identity, because even the government doesn’t think I exist.
Goodnight all.


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