*how do alcoholic superspies exist? 2002-03-23 5:36 a.m.*

she is home now, eyes and stomach raging at her, but really, what is youth for.

she just at least half an hour playing guard, her back against a door that was locked behind her. she started standing up, but soon sunk down into a fetal position, listening to the furtive whispers of her compatriots, but holding her stomach and really just wanting her bed.

she pretends to be a superspy, when the superspying occurs, her stomach does not hold out.

fortunately, when the jig finally is up, the fact that there is a drunk whiney girl on the floor against the door is probably the best excuse for it to be locked.

but now she must slink into her bed, with the kitten already curled up there, and hope that there are no mad midnight (er, midmorning) dashes to the toilet.

*listening to: *
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