Morning After

Dearest liver, when did you lose heart? You’re just going through the motions now, doing the bare minimum. I’m forced to start looking for a replacement. Black coffee isn’t the hangover cure it was in my 20s. I’m reminded this morning of why I don’t really drink anymore. A tiny bell choir in my ears, eyes heavy and dull, and a mouth stuffed with cotton—the approaching sunrise promises pain instead of beauty. My saving grace is that I’m allowed remote work again, so I can sit here alone to stew in the consequences of my poor judgment. Woe to those who want to get an attitude on Teams calls today. And on a completely unrelated note, I feel my reading slump ending. The desire is returning. I think I’ll start by finally finishing Michael Cisco’s The Divinity Student.