56.

In my zombie like state of booze and pills and sleep deprivation I did a piss poor job of hanging up the hammock. I'm looking like a big letter U and my back and neck are killing me. I did not make the hammock tight enough. Karma is slapping me the face for stealing it. Despite the pain, I feel pretty decent. Not really hung over and I'm waking up in someplace vaguely familiar. Someplace that is home. I head up stairs to the kitchen and throw some water on my face. I go the closet with the crafty doorknob and I'm met with no resistance this time. I grab some cleaning stuff. Mundane stuff. I stomp down stairs to my dungeon and I vacuum. It's ordinary. No need for explanations or fancy metaphors. Fuck off.