it started out as an awful day...i got FADED on johnny and coke last night, came home at around midnight and started running around like a four-year old on red bull. i needed to puke. i couldn't puke. i ran in to a wall. i didn't need to do that. i finally passed out next to a very clean garbage can, my poor roomie exhausted from my antics (and thank you for taking such good care of me, for only getting two hours of sleep before work; you are an angel.), my head still buzzing from intoxicants, my heart still full of hope.
it was like 2000 all over again. THAT time, i spent election night at the now-defunct West 24, the upscale southern restaurant owned by carville and matalin in the west end. it was a flawless choice, especially b/c my grad school rented out the back room and fed us. (that's what i got for $32k a year in tuition. canapes.)
i remember leaving around midnight and taking a cab home to my logan circle apt. i remember my eyes popping open at around five, my hand homing in on the remote, my tv screen bouncing to life with NBC...i remember being astounded. gore was leading when i left the party...suddenly...he wasn't.
last night, though i passed out in a black haze, at four am my eyes popped open and i felt massive deja vu. my hand found a different remote, a different TV blazed to life. democracy plaza didn't look so hot. my roomie groaned at my sudden resurrection. it was riveting for a second or two, and then my chest caved in. not again. not like 2000. suddenly i couldn't sleep. i couldn't do anything but rack my brain for hows and whys, for lost lessons from campaign school, for signs that i had missed...
my domestic partner groggily muttered, "you got less than three hours sleep...you're going to be hurtin' later. oh, and you REEK of whiskey. like, from here."
i didn't pay attention to any of that, except to catalogue it in that way i do, so that i can perhaps later type it here, for you.
at about 8am, i started to feel violently ill. i realised that the planets had all aligned and they were gleefully destroying my life. i knew why my head hurt so much. i knew why my heart hurt so much. i thought i knew why i wanted to puke...but it wasn't from the alcohol, or the election. i was getting some monthly curse action.
you've got to be kidding me.
i have NEVER had the misfortune of commencing cramps and female-torture WHILE being overwhelmingly hungover. let me tell you, it's not a combination i wish on dubya even. rove, maybe. you see, the only way to cure cramps is to take motrin. you can't take motrin on an empty tummy. this is where my hangover becomes relevant; thanks to that, looking at or smelling food made me want to scratch out my own face. the thought of eating made me want to retch. without eating, painkilling would be impossible, and i'd be forced to pay for eve's stupidity with some really violent lower body pain.
sigh.
and all the while, it's a scary new reality blaring out of the television.
i forced down a slice of raisin bread, half a glass of milk and 800mg of ibuprofen. i tried to lie down in the living room, and writhed b/c the hangover, the cramps and the election made everything hurt. finally, mercifully, i crawled to my room and passed out.
when i woke up, the cramps had gone away but a special sort of shock and anxiety had just started...
.
.
.
1:30 am. my apt is spotless. for the first time. no boxes in the living room. actual hangers in my closet. it's kind of lovely actually. every stainless steel appliance gleams. the granite counters are pristine again. berber carpet vacuumed twice. dishwasher done humming. i was even on my fucking knees scrubbing the grout between marble tiles. yeah. THAT kind of cleaning.
never underestimate my joy in unbelievably domestic pleasures; when i realised that the sink's spout detached and became a mini-hose that i could manouever however i pleased, i actually gasped with happiness.
i have to be up in less than five hours, to pick up someone from the airport.
my head is spinning, from the fumes of cleaning products, exhaustion and just plain disbelief at recent political events.
i still need to take a shower. and not mess up the perfect bathroom. the mirrors shimmer, the counters shine, there is no dust or towel lint anywhere. i can't believe that the thought just crossed my mind, that i should run upstairs and shower in the women's locker room of my building's gym. i'm not that much of a freak. but i wouldn't judge someone who was. my first visitor will be in this apartment, in eight hours. i'm ready. for them and everything else...
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