Rehydrating slowly this morning (with a banana-peach-coconut smoothie) after the worst booze-poisoning I’ve had in a long time. It turns out that finding out one’s oldest friend nearly died (she will be fine) right before going to a beer-tasting event is possibly unwise. As is mixing differently brewed, er, brews, including several in the 7+% alcohol range. I don’t think I’ve been that rough since my going-away party before I moved to England. Or possibly my liver’s just given up on me.
I wish I had something insightful (which I initially typed as ‘inciteful’ – that’s for my call-to-arms over airline pricing*) to say about this, but really, I just need to grow up. Maybe that’ll happen some day when I deal with my occasional lack of coping strategies. I know people who are having babies and making television shows and I’m now facing a very busy day at work feeling fragile because I regressed to teenagerhood**yesterday.
And yet? Somehow I’m pleased with the ridiculousness of having been drunk on a Sunday afternoon that didn’t involve watching the World Cup.
I’m going to be hanging out with a homebirth-advocating doula this weekend and I can’t wait to tell her that, yeah, no, really, not everything pregnancy and birth-related can be resolved via yoga and healing herbs. Okay, she understands hospital interventions, really, but maybe I’m in a fight-picking mood. I do think homebirths are great in a lot of cases, but I’m thanking the higher powers for advances is obstetric science today.
*Paul was pricing trips to Vegas the other day and again confirmed that flying there, via Chicago, and staying at a swank hotel for three nights would cost less than my flight to Chicago alone.
**Actually, I didn’t drink that much as a teen. I mean, I drank FREQUENTLY, but not in vast quantity. I’m not sure if it’s bad or good that the terrible poetry I wrote in this era has not survived.