No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2001-09-03 - 8:16 p.m.

a vivid and sordid description of the dreaded dry heave hangover

i've been inside all weekend, working on BigSis's site. it's on-line and (mostly) functioning.

that's all i want to say about that.

the only thing on my list that i got to was to drink a lot of beers (and captain). too many in fact. i had one of my dry heave hangovers on saturday. for those of you who don't know what this is like. let me clue you in.

sometimes, when i drink waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much, the next morning my stomach goes on revolt. it works like this:

5 am: wake up. stagger to bathroom. vomit. look in mirror and say to self "oh no, not again". go back to bed.

7 am: wake up. stagger to bathroom. dry heave. thank god for two more hours uninterrupted sleep. go back to bed.

7:30 am: wake up. stagger to bathroom. dry heave. think to self "but i haven't eaten anything. there's nothing to come up." go back to bed.

8 am: wake up. stagger to bathroom, dragging pillow and blanket along. dry heave. collapse on bathroom floor.

half-hour intervals until about 10 am: wake up. crawl to altar of porcelain god. pray for death.

10:30 am: shower. open bedroom door and face smug self-satisfaction of eRoommate who never vomits after drinking. plot to kill eRoommate in his sleep.

11 am: it's been almost an hour, maybe the revolt has ended. drink a small glass of water. eat two crackers.

11:15 am: nope. back to the bathroom.

11:30 am: illness be damned. start working on BigSis's site. take call from Mom. she's looked at the graphics you designed last night. they all suck. thanks Mom, love you too. excuse yourself for more dry heaving. don't call Mom back.

some time around 1:15 pm: after another quiet hour, try a few more crackers. success! the revolt has ended. nibble nervously on mild food until three, then fall ravenously on left-over pizza. look forward to feeling weak and feverish the rest of the day. swear to never, ever, ever drink anything alcoholic again.

7 pm: the boys call. they're going out to the bar. you know. drink. at the bar. fight temptation. win (for once).

so that's it, in a nutshell. i seem to do this about once a year. i never know when it's going to strike or why. i suppose it's a sign that i should quit drinking, or at least learn more moderation. i suppose someday i will.

sent an email to HymenopteraGirl tonight. i always mean to reply to her emails in a day or two and recently, it always seems to take a month. i feel so bad about that. there's part of my that is really looking forward to my trip, and there's part of me that is nervous, perhaps even dreading it. i'm not sure why. maybe it's because i don't feel like i ever got closure with HymenopteraGirl. of course, from another point of view, nothing really ever opened up that needed closure. but i had some pretty strong feeling for her, and i think that she might have returned them at least some. we just could never seem to communicate. i never knew what she was thinking or feeling. i feel like i threw all my cards on the table, but could never tell whether or not she was bluffing.

i dunno. again with the can of worms. that's me all over.

i'm tired now. i'm going to go read.

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