Proof of the escape.

Anyone else in a post-Derby daze?

Where did the last two weeks go? Why am I carrying around an extra 5 pounds of bourbon and beer weight? Why is Facebook making me so fucking depressed?

Derby is an escape, and when it’s over and you have to crawl back into your lame, regimented life, it’s soul-sucking and sad.

It’s back to swiping left on Tinder, back to arguing with lesbian Republicans from Georgia who message you on OKCupid (true story), back to the gym, back to bedtimes, back to mowing the lawn, back to the grind.

I’m hibernating until the beach.