Sometimes I forget myself

This is part of my Fiction Friday series.

Sometimes I forget myself.

I forget that I’m often lonely and frequently sad. I forget that I’m at least 20 pounds overweight. I forget that I no longer dye my hair just to do “something different” and now do so out of the obsessive necessity to cover my gray hairs. I forget that I hate my job and that at this point it’s highly unlikely that I’ll ever have children. I forget that the apartment is a mess and that I have too much credit card debt.

Sometimes I can forget all that and have some fun.

Last night was one of those nights.

Last night I had fun in spite of myself. I was helped along by a few cocktails that hid their high alcohol content behind candy-like flavors. I was also helped along by the friends who hounded me to go out. Last night I laughed loudly and danced awkwardly. Last night I didn’t look at the time until it was so late that I said, “Oh, shit! I’d better go.”

This morning I remembered myself again.

I woke up tired with a thud of a headache and mouth full of regret. Make up couldn’t hide the darkness below my eyes. None of the clothes that I tried on then left rejected on the bed could adequately hide my increasingly fat body.

An alert on my phone told me that Kelly had shared pictures from last night. I hesitated to click, but when I did I stared at each image of me for a minute at time, running my thumb over the glass of the screen. I saw myself smiling and laughing and dancing.

I looked great.

Perhaps even beautiful.

This morning I looked at those pictures from last night and thought to myself,

“I wish I looked like that in real life.”

Then I went in search of a large, bitter coffee.
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