My eyes were still blurry though I had been up for hours. I was vaguely aware that I probably smelled horrendous. I pulled my robe a little closer and figure it didn't matter because it wasn't like I was going anywhere and no one was coming to see me.
The fridge light was blinding in the dark kitchen. I squinted into the glare just long enough to find the chocolate milk and shut the offensive light back where it belonged.
I pulled out the last clean glass. It was a tall one with a thick base - a pretty glass that I used to set with china when I used it. I poured the glass full. I drank a little off the top and filled it up again; licking away the phantom mustache I could feel on my upper lip.
I went for a straw - a blue bend-y one - and ended up with two.
I stuck the straws in the glass and stared at them for a moment. They drifted apart in the milk, gravitating to different edges of the glass. That was when I started crying.
I sat on my kitchen title and let my two-strawed chocolate milk get warm while I bawled.