Burgers and Grief

I bought a burger from some van and put every single condiment on offer all over it, and it all dripped down my leg--someone thought the ketchup was blood. I got back to my uni halls and rubbed the burger all over the walls, God knows why.When I got to my room, I put the burger on the side, took my shirt off, fell asleep, woke up, vomited all over my pillow, opened my window (onto a courtyard) and wiped it off with the back of my arm into the courtyard: everyone could see my boobs and my vomit. Then, I fell asleep, woke up at 8am and finished the burger.

When I was 22, I thought that I was invincible. My best friend had died a few years before and me not knowing how to appropriately mourn her death contributed to my destructive behavior. Although one can argue that I was simply an asshole--a drunk asshole. One night, I drank more than the usual "too much," punched my friend in the face because she was making out with a dude who, months before, had said something racist to me about how black men are lazy and don't work, tried to drive home, and crashed into a stop sign. After realizing I had left my cell phone at another friend's house, my first drunk thought was, "Well. I guess I gotta leave the scene of an accident." Before I was able to carry out my third felony of the night, two dudes saw me, pulled over, called a tow truck and waited with me for the tow to arrive. They both shook my hand before they left. The tow truck driver drove me home with my car tailing behind us and I paid him with the emergency credit card I always managed to carry with me even on nights I could barely remember. All of these people should have called the cops on me. It's hard for me to rationalize how I came out of that with only a totaled car and one awkward friendship. There's a tiny part of me that thinks that maybe my best friend was watching me that night, rolling her eyes, and saying, "Bitch. You get one."