November 12, 2008 --- 8:18 AM
I needed forty-eight hours with my feet up, drinking a 2-liter of Diet Coke, straight from the spout, playing catch with my dog and doctoring up my cat scratches. And they about tore themselves up getting to me when I opened the door. It's fair to say that I went to church fairly often. I didn't beat myself up about it, if I skipped. When I did show up, at least I wasn't puking up rum and ecstasy. By the end of my shift Saturday night, I knew that anything other than a weekend at home was totally out of the question. Stretched out with a good book was sounding better and better, the closer I drove home.
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