I am so hungover.
Have you ever tried to explain the sensation of being hungover? It’s incredibly hard. I was trying to explain it to Meg this morning when she asked if I had a headache. [Did I tell you Meg is living with me? She’s living in my food pantry in the back corner of my apartment. My friends call it the West Wing.]
Meg is the healthiest person I know. Meg was not hungover this morning. Meg made the smart choice and drank water yesterday when I drank….whatever I drank. Something in a mason jar. So, while she was up and working on her shopping list for the day, I carried my half-eaten Chipotle back into bed with me. I’m sure there are rice remnants hidden in my sheets.
My hangovers don’t isolate themselves to one particular body part. They just make me feel really blah. I feel gross even after I shower. My stomach feels squishy as if I housed half a pizza the night before (or carnitas). My joints feel like the onset of arthritis.
Meg, who believes everything has a cause-and-effect relationship, went into detective mode on the “inflammation” in my body and rubbed peppermint on my knees. I smell like a Junior Mint. It’s awkward.
Why am I telling you any of this? Half of you don’t work today. I’m sure you feel as equally shitty as I do. If you took full advantage of your Sunday.
Taking advantage of my Sunday meant spending it with two of my favorite people on planet Earth.
I’m getting super sentimental over Herald and Derrick lately. Derrick leaves DC in March, so I’m trying to squeeze every minute I can into spending time with them.
The three of us met up at Pearl Dive on 14th Street, just blocks from my house. Pearl Dive used to be my all-time favorite bar, until they started charging twelve dollars a pop for cocktails.
As much as I love this city, I love it even more in the spring and summer time. DC comes alive when the sun is out. I can’t even describe it to you. The sidewalks are packed with people pouring out of bar patios. Since the boys are late to everything two humans could possibly be late for, I tried my best to wait for them without feeling awkward. I glanced around at all the people on the sidewalk, moved my butt inside, stole a bar stool for Herald since he just had ACL surgery, glanced around some more…I am such a social whimp.
A few years ago, I was at the wedding reception for my bosses Bill and Hayley. Hayley’s sister and maid of honor, Caito, was giving her speech. I don’t remember the first half, but I remember her finishing with, “Everyone can see Hayley breathe a sigh of relief when Bill walks into the room.”
That is exactly how I feel every time Herald or Derrick walks into the bar.
The three of us cheered and clinked mason jars. We choked when we saw the tab and switched to beer. I’m pretty sure I stole a guy’s sunglasses (there are a pair of sunglasses on my dresser that were not there yesterday, so not too far a leap). I bitched out Derrick for moving, for about the thirty-seventh time. I’m sure he’ll feel guilty eventually.
There was a time when I felt super guilty for Sundays like this.
By time, I mean two weeks ago. Sundays were for catching up, getting ahead, and running errands. I had to have something tangible to show for Lord-knows-what-work by day’s end.
Who the fuck am I kidding, I still feel like that. But I’m trying really, really hard not to.
My friend Keena (who would have joined us yesterday, had she not been home in North Carolina) once told me, “Kara, I judge my days by how happy I am. You judge your days by how much you got done.” I am trying very, very hard to stop doing that. Or at least find a happy medium between the two.
In a couple months, I won’t be able to hang out and get shitfaced with the first two friends I made in this city.
Instead of regretting getting hammered when I should have been working, I’ll regret sitting behind a computer when I could have been making memories. I’ll regret not spending as much time as I possibly could with my friends, when spending time was an option. And therefore, I offer my liver as tribute for the next six weeks.
And now, I really want tater tots.