Somehow I managed to drink a bit too much on a Tuesday night. Marvelous. Now I am hungover and patiently waiting in the library for my next class. Libraries and churches, never optimal places to recover from a hard night out. The first never has anywhere comfy to sit when trying to ease the spins, although the books do offer a momentary distraction. The second is simply morally questionable, as throwing up in the restroom behind the pews while the sermon drones on and parents discretely pinch their children to keep quiet is never favorable and the event will probably be held against me when I meet Peter at the gates.

In any case, it was the usual Taco Tuesday night in Newport. Drinking, eating and smoking with good people. Except this time he was there and he actually apologized for the first time in almost a year. He said he was sorry and I said it was okay and patted his arm. Then, like that, we got on just fine. Talking and laughing with everyone else, like friends. I'm surprisingly really happy with the whole situation. For the first time in a long time, I feel as if everything is almost just right, for the moment.