I've been sleeping better because I haven't drunk as much the last couple of nights. Sunday was Cinco de Mayo so me and E had margaritas at a Mexican restaurant with E's mom and uncle. The conversation mostly revolved around the same things it always does, these days: Trump, history, Michigan and Ohio, Trump, black history, the weather, travel, sports, and Trump. We went back to E's mom's place afterward and I had a can of Budweiser. Budweiser is good.
Last night the Jackets were expelled from the Stanley Cup playoffs by way of an anemic power play, a few soft goals by Bobrovsky, at least one extremely questionable call, and the supposed resurgence of Boston's star players. As I watched I chugged a Labatt and then had a little mini-snifter (tulip?) of Maker's Mark, which I bought for Kentucky Derby-related festivities. I took my time with the whiskey. I poured it around 10:30 and didn't finish until close to 1. I had stopped watching hockey at that point and had moved on to reading Lydia Davis and listening to my New Age ambient electronica shit.
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