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2001-10-01 - 2:52 p.m.

I like to think there is a narrative here, a beginning and a middle and an end. But sometimes I seem so stuck in the middle, and I don’t know how to get out of it. Sometimes I just want to skip to the end, and find out how things turned out.

The weekend was full of obligations. There were things I wanted to do, and things I had to do, and then I got sick on Saturday, which is the perfect excuse, really, to get out of doing everything.

I had happy hour with April on Friday evening – two margaritas – and happy hour with Corey and Kristin after that – two beers. Corey and Kristin are moving to Portland, and while I am very excited to have someone to visit in Portland, I shall miss them very much. They were my first married couple friends; Corey and I used to eat lunch together at work, and I would interrogate him about married life. Now, I have more married friends, and the idea of two people sharing a life together isn’t as strange as it was before. But they were my first marriage role models.

I woke up late on Saturday morning with a pounding headache. I was mad that, once again, I had misjudged my alcohol consumption. I promised, once again, that it wouldn’t happen again. But still, I made myself go running, four miles, the sun bright and the air cool, and each pounding step on the pavement echoed the pounding in the head.

Rob and I had plans to eat brunch. Now that my appetite’s back, I’m indulging in the food I like best: two eggs over medium, hashbrowns, toast, pancakes, and coffee with free refills. I picked him up, and we drove to Kerbey Lane. My head still ached, and I felt progressively worse throughout the drive. By the time we were seated, the thought of food was unbearable. Rob finished quickly, and I asked him to drive my car back to his place. The drive was long and bumpy, and I think we passed every single greasy fast food restaurant that ever existed along the way. I was squirming in my seat, clutching my stomach with one hand and the vinyl seat cushion with the other, knowing the inevitable was coming. Finally, I leaned out the window and threw up. A lot. Rob got me to his house, laid me down on the couch, turned on Ear Candy, and brought me ibuprofen and Tums and water. He proceeded to check on me every fifteen minutes or so, in between puttering around the house and washing off my car. It was oddly domestic, and not a halfbad way to spend a Saturday afternoon; there is no one else I would rather be sick in front of.

I spent the rest of the day at home, reading and sleeping and watching reruns of “Fame” on VH1. By 8 pm, the headache was gone, and by 10 pm I was restless and bored. But I still want a rational answer as to why I was sick. I want it to make sense. Was it the alcohol? Running on an empty stomach? Dehydration? Stomach flu? Nerves? For once, I would like my body to act in a normal manner. I want to know what’s wrong.

There was more, of course. Visting Gary at I Luv Video (to get the White Stripes cd, which he forgot to bring me). Poppy seed bagel with garden vegetable cream cheese (my new food craving). Kickball. Potluck at Jessica's house. People watching at Spider House. No really good stories involved with any of that.

I learned how to do hyperlinks. Can you tell?

And here’s a song lyric for you, in honor of October 1st:

Happy and hungover on the first day of October
Struggling to remember the last night of September
In the early evening, then you crack each other up
Laughing ’til you’re practically bent double on the floor
Amidst a sea of empty bottles, crockery and coffee cups
Using anything for ashtrays, drinking drinks you can’t afford
And you’re still bored

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