Bin Laden's Death to One 28-Year-Old

When we heard Bin Laden was dead, Corvus spontaneously ran outside to shout with joy. "It's over. It's finally over." Tears dripped down his face.

I wasn't quite sure what ended with Bin Laden's death. I wasn't complaining, but I wasn't feeling the overwhelming relief or joy that seemed to take over my boyfriend. He's three years younger than I am, and it didn't occur to me at the time, but we were in different places in our lives on September 11th and I may be five minutes too old for the jubilance. Or maybe I'm just too skeptical to place my feelings of safety in the mortality of one human. Still, I envy the death revelers.

On September 11, 2001, I had just begun my sophomore year at Nameless Liberal Arts College. When someone in my statistics lab stood up that morning and announced an airplane had flown into the World Trade Center and another into the Pentagon, I thought they were doing an experiment for psych class. But no, Google quickly confirmed that the world had gone to shit. Class let out early. Some classes were canceled for the day, others went on with optional attendance. The dorm lounges were packed with students staring at the news, horrific images, and the first time I ever heard the name "Osama Bin Laden."
My most hawkish (and incidentally, at the time, only Republican friend) wanted, to bomb someone. Blow up something in revenge. But being a self-centered 19-yer-old, that was my biggest fear: war. We were in the middle of a middle state, nice and safe. I already knew my family was safe, so my next concern was my of-drafting-age male friend pool. We'd just elected The Bad President and there was no way he was keeping us out of war. I assumed at that point it would at least be the "logical" war, but my peers were the ones who'd have to fight it and I didn't like that. We sat in that lounge and I wanted to be held by the Boy I was pining over at the time as well as every single boy I gave a marginal crap about before they all had to go die for the country.

I had friends in school in New York too close to Ground Zero. One still has PTSD.
I had friends help clean up at Ground Zero.
Then somehow we ended up in Iraq and no one I really cared about at the time had to fight.
But the threat of Terror never felt like it was the threat of Osama Bin Laden. I remember Oklahoma City (though I was quite young) and that was American extremists. There will always be a small percentage of the human population that likes to screw things up for the rest of us, and that is terrifying. I'm glad there's one less ultra-asshole, but he was never the focal point of my fear or pain and therefor doesn't get to be a trigger for great relief.

Maybe if I was just a bit younger, or a bit someone else, I'd need a face for the abstraction of fear. I wouldn't have such concrete non-Bin Laden things from September 11th and he would hold status as the threat of my youth. Maybe he would have been my childhood's boogieman. But he was only a piece of my fear and feels like just one piece of the puzzle, not full closure on a hole in my soul.

I joined my friends for a post-Obama speech tequila shot. Obama is so presidential and doing a shot seemed somehow the most appropriate response to Bin Laden's death, anyway; we drink to life, death, joy and pain, to numb the feelings that are too alive and  to remind ourselves we're alive when we're too damn numb.

Morning Downs and Ups

The president of my condo board is a complete dick, as proven by this morning's round of emails. There's a lot of hot-headed self-centered bullshit in this building, and having grown up in a nest of hot-headed self-centered bullshit (frequently wrapped up in it myself) I now like to play peace ambassador whenever possible. But in Condoland, I know so little about the process and the rules and everything, I don't stand a conscilliatory chance.

Reading nasty emails full of personal attacks was ruining my morning when my brother called.
At 10 AM he was drunk.
It was the last day of finals. He was at a bar.
Ah, college. Memories. The bar staying open all night right up until graduation the next morning
My brother's call drastically improved my mood.

moblogged from Kingston Mines

Its a good thing im feeling well & enjoying unbelievably good music. Not wasting my time on drama or misalignment. Im here & theres plenty of wonderful.

Addendum: 1:08 AM. Home now. AG was tired and a bit fussy tonight, mostly at PB. Why do I feel like "Mom, Dad, I hate it when you fight," and the impulse to "fix" every recognizable hurt and sadness I think I see on PB's face? When did my protective side show up? I don't want it to be a narcisistic protective side--my mom does that a lot and I have, too, in the past.

Um, I had two drinks and I feel like I'm writing with rocks for brains.

Also, I made fairly clear but not particularly intense genstures in Ken's direction that were well received. The world is full of maybe.

Responsible

Neighbor Guy called me this morning from his neighbor's phone to say he had to go to the emergency room, could I give him a ride.
He thought he had alcohol poisoning.
He was conscious, had thrown up earlier, and described standard "I drank too much and now I feel like shit" symptoms, but his neighbor seemed to agree the ER was necessary so I put on my jacket and went to get my car.
My car started, went half a block, and stopped. Same dead transmission crap it pulled a few weeks ago. Two guys standing out in the single-digit cold were very nice and helped push my car into a mostly legal parking spot. "Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses" my ass. Hair in a pony tail, glasses on, wearing a hoodie and boys still do nice things. Maybe humanity is just nicer than I used to think.
I walked back to Neighbor Guy's apartment and it was even more clear to me that he was fine, but yet another one of his neighbors popped in and said detoxing at the ER was clearly the best thing, so I figured I was wrong and called a cab while Neighbor Guy went back and forth between lying on the floor in the fetal position and walking around somewhere between anxious and annoyed.
The cab arrives and Neighbor Guy has to choose which ER. He's worked at many of the major hospitals in the area, so he names the closest one he can think of where he knows no one but it doesn't suck.
$20 cab ride later (the driver had to break his $100 bill) we walk into the ER and sit down. The admitting nurse asks what's wrong and looks at Neighbor Guy like he's crazy when he says he thinks he has alcohol poisoning.
"Alcohol what?"
"I drank too much and now I feel..."
"You want to do detox?"
"Yes"
"Are you an alcoholic?"
"Yes."
This whole ordeal is suddenly worth it if Neighbor Guy admits to his alcoholism.
The nurse still thought we were insane or using the ER to treat poor baby Neighbor Guy with his tummy ache and his psychosomatic attention-seeking phantom symptoms.
That's what I thought, too.
They put him on an IV because he wanted to be on an IV. What was in the IV? Anti-nausea drugs and anti-anxiety drugs; a very mild cocktail.

He wanted to be babied and fawned over, but the whole time I was covering just what he needed, tough love, telling him he was fine and he could do it himself. He wanted to come back to my house, I said no. He wanted to take a cab the two blocks from Walgreens to his house. He wanted all sorts of things from me and from the universe and I wasn't going to make any of this cushy for him. I feel physically crappy all the time. I complain about it a lot, but it's something I'm very familiar with. When you bring the crappy on yourself in a very avoidable way, you need to learn to take responsibility for it yourself, too.

Today tied in very closely with my feelings about my trip to New York. I felt very irresponsible on the NY trip. I kept losing papers and things in my purse, I felt frazzled and dependent on Possible Boy but at the same time responsible for him. I felt like it wasn't my trip so everything I did was pure intrusion and as soon as something was actually expected of me I should have it pop magically and perfectly out of a hat because I was responsible for so little. In essence, I was back to Vacation With My Family Mode. I even forgot to eat and got crazy hungry, which is completely Singer Family Vacation Tradition--at least half the family should be hungry and cranky and yelling at any given moment. Possible Boy called me "Sweetie" at one point and I felt so much like I deserved to be treated like a child I didn't even try to punch him.

Flash forward to today, in a cab. Now instead of people taking important documents from me so they won't get lost, I'm the one holding the papers and Neighbor Guy's wallet, all in the same purse that ate addresses and directions just a few days earlier. I direct the driver to Walgreens, give the pharmacist Neighbor Guy's information. Neighbor Guy doesn't have a phone number. Last week I was in Walgreens trying to work a way to get more of my shots to me in New York. I'd tried to get them at this Walgreens, my Chicago Walgreens, a week before my trip, but with Christmas and insurance they weren't ready in time. So I felt irresponsible in New York, a drug addict begging at the counter for vials of the only thing that seems to consistently cut through my pain, and like Neighbor Guy I'd walked right into my pain my first night in New York. I ate cookies and drank a beer. I know now that cookies and beer make my head hurt, but I did it anyway. Then I drank coffee to keep me going. Then I forgot to eat. All these things that can cause problems, and I wanted to say "To hell with it! I'm in New York! I can live life like a normal person!" But I used up my shots and there I was at Walgreens, and Walgreens told me I couldn't get more shots, so now I'd have to live with the consequences. But it wasn't just me, alone in my condo with my consequences. I had friends along for the ride. I'm used to being alone, designing my life around my solitude, my dog is my "plus one." I don't want it to be that way anymore, and it's starting to change, but I have to learn to adapt my behavior, too. "To hell with it" effects more than just me.

Back to Neighbor Guy. He's the extreme example. He wants everyone else's world to stop with his hangover. I understand the feeling of "How can life go on when I feel like death?" but that's one of those ideas you know is ridiculous.
Possible Boy just called. I totally spilled cranky all over him. My mother called moments later and got more of it. I need to eat and I need to remember that everybody is human and we're all just trying to figure out life at our own paces and flavors. Neighbor Guy's inability to see beyond himself makes me crazy, but that's just one facet a lot of people share to varying degrees. Forgive myself for seeing myself first and maybe I can be less annoyed by everybody else.

Apparently I'm going to Aural Girl's house for zucchini pancakes. Local friends are swell.

Esteem

I want to love myself.
I hurt myself.
So much comes so easily to me, I don't know what to do when something is hard. Things either work or I figure out another way to make it easy for them to work.
My heart hurts. Loss and loneliness and jealousy are the hardest for me to bear. When a Boy likes me, I try to make it very clear from the start if he has any chance in hell so he never gets emotionally sucked in only to be let down. Maybe that's a bit too pre-emptive. I'm fussy and not feeling particularly good about myself this past week, and I know many girls in my position would go out and flirt and get as many of their Male Suitors as possible to tell them that they are pretty and wonderful and all that. I half-assed tried to contact the Boys Who Like Me yesterday and today, dolled myself up for karaoke, and still felt like crap. I couldn't really bring myself to tease forth accolades. Because it's evil or because I don't think I deserve their shiny words? Possible Boy has a new possible Girl, and of course that chokes me with extra jealous and lonely. How can I ever measure up to anyone else with a pulse?
I hate these feelings. Why do I feed them tequila? Why do I have them in the first place?

Worm

Very long day with too much driving in Friday traffic and getting mad at myself for things and not eating for many hours at a stretch. Tequila and Aural Girl heal all wounds. My psychiatrist official prescribed a sun lamp for seasonal depression. Why can't it just be ok to hybernate? Juggling my four main doctors and eight regular prescriptions makes me want to hybernate, too. Where's that One Magical Thing or Person that can make everything improve in a constant and noticable way?

Hearty and Fantastick

Wine tasting party at Aural Girl's house, then to the bar with a heavy buzz.
Aural Girl makes an excellent co-conspirator. Everything feels like a nudge and a wink and an inside joke at the mild expense of the world.
Then she went home and I talked to Possible Boy about the pebbles grinding against the deepest parts of my heart--family, fear, self. I say things out loud that I barely know how to write, tears pouring down my cheeks.
I watch the Social Worker ebb and flow in his words and his eyes, I hear him profess the oaths of painters and poets, praising the inherent beauty of emotion and the expression and art of every life experience.
I want to hear the song that's in my heart sung by another person so I know I'm not alone. When another person starts singing it spontaneously, joy joy joy.
Now let me meditate on the song of your heart.
measured
I keep going back to The Fantasticks:

There is a curious paradox
That no one can explain.
Who understands the secret
Of the reaping of the grain?

Who understands why Spring is born
Out of Winter's laboring pain?
Or why we all must die a bit
Before we grow again.

I do not know the answer.
I merely know it's true.
I hurt them for that reason;
And myself a little bit, too.

and then it was 2008

I spent New Years in a ballgown* in the international terminal of O'Hare airport. On purpose.

After three weeks with his girlfriend in Florida, NBF's flight was scheduled to arrive at 11:25 PM on New Years Eve. Had I not seen the sign for the airlines when I dropped him off, I wouldn't have believed his domestic flight was really going in and out of the international terminal or that this "discount carrier" actually existed.
With all my recent migraine hell, I wasn't going to make any big booming New Years plans, and my one other big non-booming NYE possibility fell through, so I agreed to pick up NBF so long as I was physically capable of driving. A week of my family mostly behaving themselves and then an energy jolt from being back at my apartment again put me on enough of an upswing that I even drove to Target in a snow storm hoping they had better evening gloves.
I put on my funky Jessica McClintock ballgown and did my hair and make-up and packed a bag with:

• cheap champagne flutes and cheap champagne to match
• sparkling blood orange cranberry juice for my new booze-free self
• marijuana as my partying alternative, packed neatly into my first aid kit because I think it's both appropriate and funny
• cherries, because I had them in the fridge and they were portable and delicious
• these Trader Joe's raspberry brie filo appetizer things that taught me 1) my oven has no temperature numbers on its knob 2) it still works and 3) so does my smoke detector.

I checked Imaginary Airline's Website before I left and discovered NBF's flight now wasn't getting in until 12:12 AM, so I took my time. My dress fell all the way to the floor and I thought about wearing my best snow boots, but ended up in my black dress boots as a compromise between form and function. I drove through what was crappy driving weather, but I was in no hurry and my new car is super comfortable with its seat warmers and anti-lock breaks and Garrison Keillor the radio and hardly any other cars on the road and everything so beautiful and still and white. I could have been miserable and cranky, but instead it was one of those strange moments of pure joy where you just have to laugh at the beauty and perfection and ridiculousness of it all.**
Garrison and I counted down at midnight on the exit ramp to Terminal 5. In a ballgown. In the snow.
Terminal 5 parking is entirely outdoors. I found a spot right by the entrance, grabbed the champagne and food, lifted my dress above the sludge, and went in.
The terminal was warm and almost empty. I put my coat and purse and food down on some seats near the middle and wandered back and forth within 20 feet of my little "base camp." The monitor still said the flight was due in at 12:12. A man slept on a few seats nearby. I wondered if he'd missed the new year. A man and a woman stared at me. I smiled. After all, I was wearing a ballgown. Another man walking passed, also staring, said, "I'm sure whoever you're here to meet will be very happy; you look wonderful." I thanked him. I wanted to say, "Yeah, and the dickwad isn't even my boyfriend!" but I didn't.
I called my parents to wish them the obligatory Happy New Year. They were having fun with their annual party and my dad as drunk as he ever gets. We hung up and it was 12:24. I noticed a bunch of people over beyond where the bar was. I thought it was just restrooms back there and the bar was closed, but maybe there was something going on. A champagne toast? People coming out of the flight?
I picked up my stuff and walked over. Heads turned. I felt like a warped version of Cinderella walking into the ball, except this turned out to be a solitary "domestic baggage claim" in the international terminal and the closest thing to Prince Charming didn't even notice until I was right next to him.
We waited at least half an hour for the bags to come out. Another hour driving home in the snow, counting down with NPR to New Years on the west coast. Then I ate all but one of the brie things, we drank our respective sparkling beverages, smoked a bowl, and he and the dog fell asleep while I lay awake and convinced myself I knew what he was thinking and overthought every turn of his head and move of his arm for at least an hour before finally passing out myself.



*Ballgown is now one word because I think it should be.
**C.S. Lewis talks about those a lot in the appropriately titled Surprised By Joy. They're like microbursts of happiness. When I try to explain them, some people know exactly what I'm talking about, some smile and nod, and others think I'm crazy. I consider them much more logical than and a welcome balance to bouts of depression and sadness. Why is unprovoked sadness common but unprovoked happiness crazy?

2-legit

I am awesome. The mess in my apartment is now shovelable, I just charged $5.64 at Starbucks to my credit card, and I still have a hickey from my Friday night drunken random hook-up.

Facebook is ruining the anonymity of the random hook-up. In a society that has trained us that "I'll call you" has the sincerity of a passing "Hi, how are you," I did not expect future contact with my drunken one night stand. I was proud of my own lasciviousness, perfectly content to stagger out the door while he slept, hail a cab and get home in time to puke some more. I didn't leave my number or even my broken $2 earring. I figured I was in for some gentle teasing from the mutual friend who, only a few hours earlier, was too distracted to actually introduce us in the first place. But that would be the end of it and I could go on patting myself on the back for letting go and allowing myself a rare indiscretion. Then my indiscretion found me on Facebook, sent me a message making sure I got home ok and apologizing for his half of the drunkenness. No, no, no! Where's the lasciviousness in that? Why legitimize one of my too-few acts of youthful freedom?
But now, thank you Modern Technology, he is human and has a last name and some sense of legitimacy. When I see Mutual Friend tomorrow, I can't just laugh it off. "Ha ha! Yeah, I don't know what happened! Ha ha! So drunk! Ha ha!" Because now there is a person with feelings and, if junior high taught me nothing else, anything said to a Mutual Friend can come back to bite me in the ass.
Birdy thinks I should marry the guy so we have to tell the story of "how we met." Thank you, Birdy.

Do you think there is a prize somewhere for over-analysis?

Lots of words without saying anything

I feel like whining. My body still hurts from yesterday's fall. The bruising on my knees is surprisingly minimal, but I seem to have pulled something in my back and my right arm and hand are distractingly sore.

Today I went laptop bag shopping with my mom and sister. I actually got them to come out to me, since I thought we'd have more luck at one of the many cute stores in my general area than we would out in the 'burbs. We went to over a dozen different places and saw many fabulous bags, but my stupid computer is too big. I was running around with a measuring tape and a sinking heart. I love my computer. That is why I want to bring her with me to school and around in general to do my writing. But with the wide screen, there is nothing that will accommodate her. In the end, I thought I found something that would be big enough, and it certainly was long enough, but I wasn't even thinking about the width. I'm going to try to return it tomorrow (assuming I get up before I have to leave for my improv class) and actually bring my computer with me this time and shove it in bags to see. Maybe I should just go online, but I like to try bags on because I am a small person and sometimes they look silly on me. My sister suggested I use the school's computers and just carry around a flash drive, but I tend to like to write in my own random found spaces and I write significantly faster (and frequently better) on a computer than I do by hand. It's kind of like my musical instrument or piece of sports equipment. Yes! It is my tennis racket and it needs a case. I am not going to leave my racket at home and use the ones at the club.

I'm making headway on my alcoholism. I've been keeping my fridge stocked with quality beer and drinking about one a night at home alone. Right now I'm enjoying The Poet oatmeal stout. If I am lucky, the alcohol content will be enough to counteract my deep dark nap I took around 7 PM. Not the smartest move on my part. Sunday I have to be at work by 8 AM. Giant piece of poop. I can't be on this weird schedule of half-sleeping through the night then crashing late evening. And then school on Monday. What are the odds I actually make it to all of my classes this time? I've been very good with my improv classes, so I'm hoping that will carry over. No more hiding in my room and refusing to shower or leave. That is not one of the seven habits of highly effective people; it is one of the habits of useless depressed people. I want to be effective, not useless.

I Georged one of the steaks from my freezer tonight. It sucked. I need to figure out the practicalities of snacking and shopping for Healthy Annabell, now that I am trying to be healthy. You know, aside from that whole alcoholism thing.

May I please go to sleep now?

benefits

I just discovered the main benefit of working at a bar: if you are not working until close and still have an ounce of energy at the end of the night, you are at a bar and you can drink whatever you want for free. I made a few concoctions that were very tasty and girly and suddenly the world isn't such a terrible place. Also I got to talk with some of the boys I normally just make eyes at from behind the bar. I do not understand the strange power held by Cute Boys, but it is undeniable.

Tina's granddaughter came to work tonight. She's eight and fabulous and helped us out all night. Tina sent her up to the studio theatre floor because the "princesses" run through the lobby fairly regularly during the show and she wanted to see the "princesses." We went back stage and found one of the lead girls and I told her Tina's granddaughter wanted to meet the princesses so she took us into the dressing room and they were all dolled up and friendly (it's a very nice cast) and Tina's granddaughter was completely thrilled. It was really sweet. I like kids. Those of you who've known me for a long time are probably snickering, but shut up. I've grown up and now I like children.

Really bad drag is mostly just sad.

Frozen dinners vary considerably in quality. I've become a big fan of Stouffer's rigatoni pasta with white meat chicken and am also impressed with the Lean Cuisine Baked Chicken. But then the Stouffer's Monterey Chicken and Michelina's Lean Gourmet creamy parmesan chicken are airline food at best. When I come home after midnight and just want something quick, easy, and delicious, how's a girl like me supposed to know the good from the bad before trying them all? Such a complicated existence I lead.

gay clubs are fun if I'm drunk enough

Drunk and dancing and entertained but I wasn't going to get drunk but I only drank two of my own and then other person's drinks kept ending up in my hands and down my throat and now I am more drunk than I should be considering my migraine and working tomorrow and such. Also, the encouragement of bad behavior is not appreciated when the behaviorist is too inebraited to be sure it is bad. My hadncuffs broke. Very sad. Quality $2 merchandice. I'm impressed with my own ability to write right now. Maybe it's like breathing where the automatic shit takes over. I'm very proud of NBF for staying up so long, but ashamed of myself for not being better behaved when I'm in a migraine cycle and needing to be at work by 12:30 tomorrow. Line up the waters 'cause I'm gonna need some serious hydration in a few hours. I need to burp a lot right now. Burp burp burp. Good sushi for dinner. Then alcohol. Now burp. Oh dear lord I better be ok tomorrow. I need to hire a babysitter.

Reasons to lock me up

I hate that moment when you're already behind the wheel of your car and you realize you probably shouldn't be. Also, why am I currently in love with everything that so much as resembles a boy? Anybody keen on the alignment of the moon or butterflies flapping their wings in Myanmar? Because it's to damn random to be anything else. Freud warmed up to BL as I drove her and SUC to their apartment after a night of Halloween festivities. Were I the one in charge, I'd totally give her a raise. Then I stopped at two McDonalds on the way home to get two cheeseburgers because I needed them and they were delicious. Think if we slo-mo the instant replay we can pinpoint the exact moment when I lost my mind? It needs to be significantly less cold out.

Things thought and found

Boys are distracting. Very, very distracting. Especially when I start craving them, the way I do steak. Yes, male population: you are a piece of meat to me. May I chop you up and eat you now? There is something completely carnal and undeniable about it.

Thing I thought was funny: Ikea Product or Lord of the Rings Character?

Thing I find amazing: The difference between two beers on and empty stomach and two beers on a full stomach. Because two beers should not have me even remotely toasted, and yet...

I shrunk my dog's super-cute hoodie in the dryer and it no longer fits him. So I brought it for NBF's dog and it fit her and she looks like the cutest little thug ever. Sad to give it up, but glad it will be well used by another.

The other morning at lunch my mom said (with tears in her eyes) she finally understands that it's ok for people to hurt and that she's sorry she didn't realize it sooner. That's a huge step for her and I'm very proud. It's weird that I'm several steps ahead of her in the whole self-realization thang, but I've always felt like our roles are reversed and I know she's felt that way with her mother. I suppose it's foolish to assume our parents will be our teachers and much better to think of every generation as an improvement on the last so that humanity can move in a positive direction.

Drunk and doing karaoke on Saturday night. It was fun. I'm baffled by the number of people I know who have done cocaine. I have no desire to try it. Ever. Maybe it's just because I've got my migraines and enough other medical fun shit, but I just don't see the appeal. Not to mention chemical high seems overrated. But karaoke is fun and alcohol is more than enough social lubricant for me. Guys get touchy, but then again so did I. Stupid boys. Why do they have to be so delicious?

My halloween costume is 90% complete. I love Halloween. Any excuse to dress up (preferably slutty) is fine by me.

NBF and I went to the most amazing place on earth the other day: Lost Eras. Two huge floors of costumes and antiques and totally random crap. Like an entire wall of antique fans. Another one of antique radios. A rack of fairy tale costumes. Stacks and stacks of hats, including every era and rank of the military. Unfathomable.

I think I pass out now.

Weekend

Saturday was the last day of the second session of my improv class. BB and the girl who annoys me so much do not plan to enroll in the next level. I am exceptionally pleased. BB had moved from my annoyance list to my pity list weeks ago as his inability to comprehend started frustrating him more than anyone else, but it was getting painful to watch. More than once he looked like he was going to cry. He'd hit a wall and wasn't about to make it through. The scenes between him and the Slayer-obsessed Nazi enthusiast (the real characters are the ones I could never make up) were the worst. Like autistics trying to make love. But never again.

After class the usual improv crew went to SUC's restaurant and ate sushi and drank and say around for hours. It was delightful. As the conversation ventured into the realm of sex, I found myself having a lot of trouble participating in the discussion. Phone Sex Girl couldn't talk about sex. But it's a topic about which I've gotten so used to making up random shit that I've become completely uncomfortable with the truth. It's much more fun to play the sexual dynamo without regard to reality or consequence. My relatively inexperienced self doesn't know what to say among friends. Bah.

We eventually dispersed and I met up with NBF. More drinking ensued, as did pizza. NBF had run the breast cancer 5K that morning and is already about 3K from being a night person, so at 11:30 PM he'd crashed and was ready to go home. I was not. I was wide awake and hadn't been out in days, so I called around and SUC said he had to close his restaurant but that I should come and hang out at the bar there. So I did. More alcohol and social interaction, and then I loomed around the restaurant office while he did all the official closing stuff. I'm sure the booze helped, but the company was good and I had a strangely fabulous time just talking. I got home around 3:45 AM. By the end of the night, I'd spent approximately 10 hours drinking. Not that I'd had so much, but it was like a slow IV drip of alcohol and I have the tolerance of an 8-year-old.

Woke up at like 8:30 AM extremely thirsty. I drank water and wrote that thing about "the grave burden that comes with having too much in our heads for our tender hearts to bear" and went back to sleep. Around 1 I answered the phone rather startled. Apparently Him had called four times. Even without alcohol I am a sound sleeper, so you can imagine how out of it I was. According to Him we were supposed to meet for brunch around 12 or 1. I recall no such setting of the time, but who knows. And what does he want for his birthday lunch? Mexican food. I was completely out of it and unable to make decisions beyond "I want coffee." I'm sure I was a fabulous conversationalist. And nothing is quite so fabulous after a night of boozing as raw onions and salsa. Really stupid. I didn't throw up, but that was a small miracle.

I got home with just enough time to change, throw things in my backpack, grab the dog, and head to my parents' for pre-Yom Kippur dinner. Thankfully, it was all extremely easy to digest. Kol Nidre services were long but good. I like this rabbi. He talked about love and the importance of community and human relationships. He's not a great speaker, but everything he says is completely heartfelt. I like that.

Monday we got to Yom Kippur services really early (like pre-Torah service with all the daily minioners and uber-frummies) and my stomach decided it was going to be cranky, so I left early and went home and crashed.

We went to my aunt's for break-fast, as we do every year, along with my aunt's two best friends and their families. We were supposed to get there at 6. We walked in the door at 6:04 and everybody was already eating. Conversations included the "right" way to put on a tie, how $750 is such a good price for getting your hair straightened by people you trust that it's worth getting a cheap plane ticket to New York City, my cousin's lopsided backhair, and single-cup coffee makers. My brother weaseled his way out of coming this year, so I was the youngest person there, but we're finally at a point in our lives that the 4-9 years isn't such a big deal. But these people (my cousins as well as their friends) live these lives of obscene wealth and privilege. That's where I feel the most different, even though I'm currently being supported by Mommy and Daddy, too. Some are still fabulous people. Some are not. But while my mother tends to have no tolerance for the people in her generation, I'm getting much better at accepting the Shiny Happy thing for the few requisite hours.

The weather was terrible and when I tried to drive home I discovered even the bigger roads were flooded, so I gave up and spent another night at my parents'. My dad came downstairs around midnight, unable to sleep. We ended up doing the Chicago Tribune Sudoku until 1:30 AM. Stupid, but exceptionally cute. Yay for daddy bonding time.

Today, I forgot to take my pills and didn't realize it until around 7 PM when the withdrawal symptoms started kicking my ass. Now I'm awake from having taken them too late in the day but I'm still feeling the weird-headedness of the withdrawal. Stupid Effexor.

At some point when we were at my parents' my dog actually got onto my parents' bed and licked my dad's face. For any of you who know my dog, this is huge.