There is no due date, no deadline for this thing, yet I feel this near Catholic guilt when I don't post at least close to daily, or in a timely manner. The Catholic guilt could be from this day being so close to the one where Jeebus came to bring the Easter Bunny back from the dead. And even though I've been hellaciously busy today, I still feel bad for not posting in a timely manner. Sometimes I feel like a sick little monkey.
Sometimes I feel like a house frau from Long Island, with one of those loud and annoying voices, sitting in a bathtub with mussed hair, bleeding out of the eyes.
It's interesting that sometimes you don't realize how bad you feel until you look back on the situation. This is how I feel about this weekend. I was still obviously not feeling at the top of my game, but didn't realize how not good I was feeling until now.
The entire weekend seems hazy, which would be fine if I had spent a majority of it swimming in whisky, but I was very prudent with my drinking. I feel like I've spent the last few days quietly in quicksand, perhaps feeling the squeezing pressure but unaware that this is where I was.
It was terrible timing this being buried, as Brandi and Brady and Jill came up for a visit. I barely remember seeing them, which I feel terrible about as there are always great comic moments and probing conversations to be had.
Friends came to the show on Friday, which was nice, and they said nice things, but I cannot judiciously tell you if the show went well or not. Same with Saturday's show; the actors seemed really jazzed about it but, and I think this is when I began to realize that I still wasn't feeling well and not just tired, I really had no way of judging how it went.
I spent most of yesterday with the sort of headache I imagine wished on killers and ambulance chasing lawyers in the 18th level of hell, sometimes nauseous from it, sometimes feverish. Bif at one point asked if it wasn't nice to be feeling better from the cold of last week and I automatically said yes.
But I would rather have a full blown cold than walk around in this codeine haze where I cannot judge highs or lows, where I cannot breathe deep with a smile the rush of wind coming up from the Sound, where I cannot remember clearly spending time with some amazing folks. That's not living.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
I sometimes get worried about your foggy hazes of drinky but then I remember your superhuman metabolism and sigh a quick breath of relief. But whatever you do dude... don't give up on your blog. It is a devilish temptation true, but your words are medicine to the masses.
Post a Comment