I remember feeling the toilet rim like a cold kiss pressed against my face. The smell crawls up my nose, and my stomach wraps itself around my spine. Most of a bottle of cheap champagne wants to make its way out.
I wrap my arms around my porcelain god and pray.

Happy twenty-first birthday, Jen.

I hadn't planned to spend my evening locked in a tender embrace with my toilet. I swear.

My morning started off with a message from my ex.
An hour or so of talking to him, and I forgot my resolution to spend the day sober.
He never mentioned the fact that today would have been our anniversary.

Erika and Hilary take me out to the Hoot Owl, the only real bar in town. I'm greeted at the door by a drunken round of "Happy birthday!" and a bottle of booze.
I down it all in about three hours.

I remember staggering back to my room after trying to choke down part of a pizza roll Erika had made me eat. It's the first solid food I've had in about 16 hours. I have a vague feeling I'm going to regret that.

I inch my way over to my room, so very glad I left the door unlocked. My clothes fly off as soon as the door shuts.
It's too hot in here.

My meds are waiting for me, somewhere on the disaster area that is my desk. I know I should take them when the first IM comes. A friend, wishing me a happy birthday. My fingers fumble at the keyboard.
My head throbs as I watch the screen. I race out of my room half-dressed as the room starts to spin.


I wake up the next morning naked. My meds are on my desk, an accusation staring me in the face. Isn't it wonderful to be a legal adult?