It is past 4 am. I should be sleeping.
Were this a night during which my sense of both a) responsibility and b) self-preservation were operative, I would be asleep.
Instead, I am writing a missive to you fine folk in Diaryland. My self-appointed mission, that of being not wholly sober, has been accomplished. I kissed a boy.
That is not quite fair -- he was several years older than I, and I am loath to call anyone in that particular age range a "boy." Nevertheless, kissing did occur. I feel a mild spark of righteousness, as I was able to tell said "boy" to go home.
I shall leave you with my righteousness intact. I am certain that the injustices perpetrated by my morning coffeepot will be enough to make me declaim loudly my problems with the world. Until then, I bid you adieu.