Crawling home

I'm trying to catch a nap in the van. My house. I'm pulled off at a public boat ramp on route 1, a few miles north of Big Pine. My side doors are open to a view of moderately littered-up mangroves. As I'm laying here, I can see enough of the sky to know the sunset is beautiful - but the sun itself is out of range of my open doors. I bought six beers earlier, and now there is only one left. That's because I'm fucking stupid, and I drank five. I really really wanted to leave Key West after I was done with my marathon of goodbyes, so I did. I was planning to spend the night on Big Pine at a final hoopla with my crew of friends who I met through Dave and Bill at the bike store. This left me with time to kill. Sleep, a book, find some fucking shade. I also planned on one beer: for reasonable reasons, I assured myself. Ha. How one equals five is something I cannot explain logically, but the concept is familiar enough. I'm not drunk - that would require more than the whole six pack, and these bottles have been emptied over the course of several hours. I'm not at all drunk, I'm just a little ashamed of my lack of control sometimes. I'm not worried about my safety, I'm just ashamed to have five empties in my cooler. Mosqitos are biting my ankles.