Sunday, April 8, 2007

I didn't really send that email, did I?

Ahhh, the wonderous moments when you get home from the bar and think it is a great idea to send an email, is never actually wonderous.

On more than one occassion I have been victim to that shining moment when it all seemed a good idea. Full of giggles and "enlightened thoughts", I have hit the send button, only to wake up with a churning in my belly the next day that has nothing to do with the booze I drank. That feeling of dread when I remember what I wrote to that certain someone. Either spilling forth gushy-girl feelings, or sharing my neurosis of a long distance relationship, I express more than I should.

Perhaps drunk dials are the better choice. Though more disruptive to the receivers' evening (or should I say wee hours of the morning), you never really get to say all those things you have the guts to write down. Meaning, there is less to feel sheepish about.

Either way around it, my laptop should be hidden from me when I go out for nights on the town. And my phone. All items of communication should be shoved under the couch far from sight. Even the tin cans and string. Just in case.

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