I remember all the reasons it seemed like a good idea and I wonder how they ever made sense. And then I remember, ‘oh, I was 19 and drunk’ and that explains so much. And I thank the gods and karma and whatever for keeping me alive long enough to grow up. I have most of my shit together now, and I’m pretty happy with that. Cause perfect is an illusion and even though Gram and Pop still pray for me and my rough edges, I think I’m doing pretty damn good. Especially looking back.