Earlier this morning, I told myself that I am never drinking again. Never again. It hurt to even get out of bed and walk to the kitchen to pour some water. Everything hurt. My Advil bottle was empty. My goddamn Advil bottle was empty. Never again would I not have a copious supply of Advil in my house. I knew that I should go to the corner store and buy some Advil but the idea of putting on clothes and taking steps down the stairs, let alone underneath sunlight and around people was just too painful seeming. I rolled around in my bed and tried to sleep the pain away.
My phone started buzzing next to me on my dresser. I didn't have the energy to immediately see who it was texting. I was hoping, because this is the state I was in, that it was Advil texting me, saying it would be right over. Please be Advil texting, I kept on moaning. It wasn't.
I went to the store, Rite Aid, down the block to buy a giant bottle of Advil. While I was being rang up by the cashier, Sheryl Crow's "My Favorite Mistake" started playing. Of course, it did.