It’s 1:34 a.m.

I spent the day driving from Montreal to Toronto in a hot, leather interior car without air conditioning while hungover to hell and back. It was horrible. Now, I’ve completely self-medicated to erase the memory of my behavior over the last two days. I took a Xanax and smoked weed before jacking off and getting into bed, which is where I am now. Basically, I tried to erase this weekend’s behavior by covering it up with more of the same behavior. Hmm.

I feel like I’ve gained 27 pounds. This weekend was fucking nuts. I was solidly drunk and/or high for a full 48 hours. I don’t remember packing my bag or showering in the hotel room this morning. I also spent the majority of last night sleeping on a chaise lounge in the hallway, next to the fucking elevator while wearing a goddamn bathrobe. I don’t even know how I ended up there. The same goes for the rest of the weekend, really. I was not expecting such a wild group. It was full on madness. Madness, I tell you! Those chicks were insane. I love them. We fucking raged. I’m so impressed. What a great team of women. A tour de force, dahhhling!

I woke up drunk, then showered, packed, and walked with the group to brunch. All of this was a blur at best. The restaurant wasn’t even that great. Listen. If brunch doesn’t involve potatoes, I don’t want it.

Following our lack luster meal, everyone went their separate ways. My group – Veronica, Riley, Abby, and yours truly – loaded up the car and began making our way home. Of course, not before stopping at no less than six fucking bakeries so that the girls could pick up some croissants and bagels to take home. Oy.

Once the ladies had successfully carbo-loaded my trunk, we hit the road in the Ford Focus – otherwise known as our personal sweatbox. To sum up our cross-province schlep, I:

• Sweat

• Cried through an entire Mariah Carey album (Me. I Am Mariah... The Elusive Chanteuse)

• Almost ran out of gas

• Had a bleak grilled cheese at Tim Horton’s

• Sat in hours’ worth of traffic

• Dropped off Veronica and Riley downtown

• Dropped off Abby in Aurora

• Stopped by Casa Z to do some laundry

Today was a fucking journey. I was completely over it before we even left Québec.

Unfortunately for Mom, she got the shit end of the stick upon my arrival at Casa Z. When I got to the house, the poor woman had found herself right in the line of fire of my foul mood. My hangover had officially reached its peak, and Mom was there for the storm.

Here’s the thing, though. Mom just wouldn’t leave me alone. While at the house for no more than an hour, Mom came into every room I was in. At one point, she just started butting in halfway through my tasks. As in, physically taking over. Mom literally took laundry out of my hands. It was absurd. I stood there almost dumbfounded. I know Mom was only trying to help, but this is the type of behavior that changes my mind about moving home.

When I’m hungover, I find that I’ll instantly go to this place of “I’m ending my Witch Cave lease first thing tomorrow” as if it’s a done deal. Although it’s certainly heightened by my drinking, that mentality will stick around for a while after I sober up. That is, until I go up to Casa Z, realize what I would be subjecting myself to by moving back home, and then have to reassess my decision making. Mom was too invasive tonight. I don’t think I can handle that. It was very aggressive. A big deal breaker.

On a closing note, I wanted to talk about something I noticed this weekend. Are Veronica and Riley strong women, or are they just rude? Now, hold up for a second. I don’t want to fall into that sexist trap of calling confident, self-assured women “bitches.” However, there were multiple instances this weekend when I noticed that both girls were very direct and short with a number of people in customer service roles – particularly in restaurants. I was a bit shocked at times. Just something to think about.

I’m going to pass out now. It’s 1:42 a.m., and I need to be at The Clubhouse for 9 a.m. tomorrow morning. Lordt help us.

Goodnight xo