And Chaos Still Rules

Last night, we went to my brother's place to celebrate the 44th anniversary of him screwing up any chance I ever had of being an only child. Much 4-wheeling was done, many beers were drank and I think we may have solved the Iraq situation, which is another post for another day. To sum it up, a good time was had by all and Raging Mom had just a bit of a buzz going on when I went to bed last night.

Getting up was a less than joyful occassion this morning, and I had to sit with my coffee for awhile before I could face the shower. After that ordeal, I started up the stairs and see that the curtains on the window at the landing have been torn down. Shit, I'm thinking, I must have been bouncing off the walls on the way downstairs this morning, though I don't remember being all stumbly or anything. Then I turn on the light in the bathroom and the contents of my makeup bag is scattered all over the floor. SHIT, I'm thinking now, what in the hell did I DO? I'm starting to feel pretty embarrassed by getting that messed up from 6 beers. I walked into my bedroom- the same room I was occupying not more than 40 minutes ago- and see the bed. Holy shit, it looked like a bomb hit it. All the covers were in a big pile, and while I do tend to toss and turn, I never do that much damage to the general alignment of sheets and comforter. By this time, I am mortified, ready to enroll in rehab, swearing off Demon Alcohol because I would have sworn I wasn't drunk when I went to bed. But, as they say in CSI, the evidence doesn't lie.

So I bent down to start making the bed when I realize that the big pile of covers is actually our oldest son. Apparently after a Nature Call he must have decided it was easier to pass out in my bed than walk back to his own. Thank God Old Sarge was already downstairs before this. It mighta gotten ugly.

Good Lord, I feel like Mama Fucking Bear- someone's been sleeping in MY bed!