Hangover

OK, I missed another day.

Actually, I missed ALL of yesterday.  I was socially, emotionally, tensionly, and somewhat alcoholically hungover.

I can only take so much of humanity before I break out in invisible hives.  The drama of last week was hard on me and Saturday sent me into a tizzy.  I was asked to write proposals to doctor the social media lacks of a couple of entities, a phone call which made me late for a St. Patrick's Day party.  The phone call alone had me shaking but being late, to a party, sent me into a champagne bottle or two.  What should I talk about -- getting fired or this wonderful opportunity or blogging or...

I did talk about those things but what I remember best is a lecture a friend gave on quince.  Apparently quince is always inedible.  There is no ripe stage.  It is used in its rotting stage in a process called maceration, which the dictionary defines as "to cause to become soft or separated into constituent elements by or as if by steeping in fluid".  

Yeah.  Whatever.  Another friend laughed at the word and suggested quince could be made potable by mastication and you can imagine what I suggested what came next and we laughed and laughed.

For a couple of hours.

As I poured myself more champagne.

I rarely drink any more.  To do so would mean drinking alone and, really, I have enough filthy habits, don't I?  So it always waits for a social event held by someone who drinks and you've heard me mention that sort of thing never.  Even so, I don't think I was hung over the way I remember from my bad old days, but I didn't sleep well and I woke with a case of too-much.  Too much interaction, too much shaking anxiety, too much riding on getting my act together to write proposals, too much interaction waiting in blogging and praying and answering the phone.  I slept a lot, watched Hugh Laurie in Wooster and Jeeves, had some pork fried rice and went to sleep early, hoping I'd have more gumption today.

It was looking mighty doubtful in the first 90 minutes of the day.

You can teach old dogs new tricks.  For instance, Daisy, who will be ten in July, began to bark in the living room one morning when I was drinking coffee in the kitchen.  To shut her up, I gave her a cookie.

That's all it took.  Every morning now she starts shrieking for a cookie.  When she comes into the kitchen to do this, it pierces my ears but is, at least, less audible to neighbors.

After taking her morning dump, she managed to dribble a second that she didn't stop for on the way into the building.  I found this out 45 minutes later when I went out to walk another dog.  I posted an apology for the "ick-factor" in the front hall and can only hope my neighbors don't hate me any more than the shrieking/dog-hair-in-dryer already make them hate me.

Then as I was walking the second dog, a kid informed me that my smoking was worse for the dog than for me.  Oh, and that was after some brat in that building decided it would be really fun to ride the elevator dogs use and punch every button.

To finish it all off, I had a forwarded email complaining about something small and stupid in My Other Life.  I spent over half an hour tracking down the exact information and defending myself.  My boss was cool but I could only think the originator of the complaint should maybe get a life.

Which I'm trying to do and that half hour was an essential piece of it.

Thank the Lord that's where One of Those Days ended.  I got my proposals done and got a green light to submit them.  I'm almost breathing.  I'm wearing my one green shirt and about to lie down and breathe some more.

Also, thank the Lord for so much positive support regarding the last couple of posts and of my posting in general.  It is deeply felt and appreciated.

Now I'm going to lie down with Super Poop and consider my next moves.