While I wait for the rain to stop...

Michael and I are coming out of a party fog. A sort of year of decadence. We have enjoyed a good romp indulging together in some of the guilty pleasures of life.

And we're a bit sore from it all. And thinking, it might be time to tone it down a bit. Give our bodies a rest from the richness and neglect.

And so, I rub my eyes and with some clarity look around at the damage done.

It reminds me of the morning after a New Years party I threw at my house in 1999. It was one of those nights that will go down in infamy. I have a foggy memory of flashes of dancing, wine, gin, nudity, and things I still can't describe.

And that morning, I made my way downstairs, stepping carefully over a few bodies. And looked in utter astonishment at what was my pristine little home. The kitchen floor had about an inch of sticky martini goo that grabbed my socks as I tried to walk across it. Confetti was in every square inch of my vision. Bright pink dried silly string hung from plants and walls. Smooshed chocolate and cheese clung to the carpets.

I stepped back (avoiding still more bodies) and surveyed the mess.

And smiled.
Because it was worth it.