First attempt

I woke up, head a little fuzzy from the night before and slowly opened my eyes. They felt red and irritated, a bit crusty - but I had been at an all-nighter and passed out before washing my make-up off. Always a good sign of having had a great time, usually when I have a bad night, I wake up clean, well-slept and in a sour mood. (Meaning, I went home early and was awake enough to do my evening routine.)

I tried to remember the night before, laying back with a groan after sitting up enough to look at my alarm clock. I had gone to a warehouse party, friends of mine were djing and I knew almost everyone there. I had received a couple new nicknames too - what they were I don't remember, I get nicknamed by almost everyone I meet. I have more names than the devil himself, I guess some people are just more the type to receive nicknames than others. The thing is, I just don't care, call me whatever you want; even rude, crude and downright silly names.

I have heard every version of Moon you can imagine: Luna, Blue Moon, Moonshine, Moonlight, Lunatic, Lunacy, Gealach - even New Moon and Full Moon. The jokes of "I've been Mooned!" or "Moon me baby!" are old, I've heard them way too often over the years.

A few of my friends are like me and I interchange which name I call them, according to my mood. Others refuse any name but their given one and so have only the one. At least they think they do, usually the people who state proudly that they are un-nicknamable are the ones who people give ridiculous nicknames behind their back. Like, Miss Grumpy Pants or Mr. Macho Man.

I've discovered that a person becomes more memorable when you allow people to give you a name which goes with their perception of you. Even if it's something you aren't particularly fond of - eventually, it will wear off on you and can be worn as something which is special between you and that person. Because that's all it is, a name tag - it doesn't mean anything to anyone else, other than to place a face with some word. Everyone knows I'm Moon - after that, call me what you will.

I laid there musing about names as I so often do and then thought about the music they played at the party until my bladder insisted I get up. The process of sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of my queen sized bed, alerted the animals in the house and the noise began. Everyone chiming in to be fed, petted, watered, played with. Each of my furry children have several names of their own, of course.

My bedroom was, as always, a mess. Clothes piled on my graphing table next to my bed, the clothes of the night before strewn around on the floor and the back of my chair, books piled on my nighttable, along with a half-full ashtray, empty waterglass, hair accessories and jewelry. Every surface and corner had something piled on, stuffed into or crammed underneath it. I have a lot of stuff. Mostly art supplies and clothes, but still it's quite a bit more than I really need. I threw all of my party clothes into the dirty pile and shuffle into the bathroom. I glanced at myself in the vanity mirror as I went by and saw eyeliner smeared across one cheek, my hair wild, red marks on my cheek and shoulder from my pillowcases. It was going to be a slow-moving day.