Yesterday afternoon I felt queasy for a couple of hours. It passed, Sam and I ran our errands, and we splurged on a pizza for dinner (Mama got paid!). After dinner I went to a party at Nina and Will’s house, where I indulged in the teensiest cocktail and about half a Guinness. I came home at 10:00, feeling a little bit drunk but knowing it was just tiredness. When I got home, Will headed to the party. (We thought for sure only one of us would feel up to going out on a Friday, so we didn’t get a sitter.) I was up until 11:30 with a certain young man who had taken a surprise two hour nap. I woke up at 1:00 or so, wondering if Will had made it home and feeling pretty wretched. I’d brought a glass of water to bed with me, and I sipped it and drifted back to sleep. I woke up again around 1:30 because Will was getting into bed. I then proceeded to drift in and out of fitful, sweaty, acid-refluxy sleep, waking at approximately 2:15, 3:15, 4:15, 5:00, 5:30, 6:00, 6:30, and finally 7:15.
I can only remember feeling that hungover twice before. One of those times (suspiciously also after a Will and Nina party) I had to call Will to come home from work because I couldn’t stop vomiting long enough to take care of Sam. Today I wasn’t puking but I did have a commitment I could not break, a private teaching engagement through a local knitting store.
The thing is, there’s no way I was hungover. I did not drink enough to be hungover. I felt like I had alcohol poisoning, but the small amount of alcohol I’d consumed was surely out of my system by the time I got up.
I had a truly miserable morning. I soaked in a hot tub. I choked down some tea and a rice cake. I got dressed and had the fellas drop me off at the shop. I kept thinking, thinking, trying to come up with something–anything–that I could eat. Nothing sounded possible. It was like being pregnant without the promise of a baby several months hence. And then. Then we passed a fruta cart. We didn’t stop but I realized I could eat fruit. So when I was early to the shop, I walked down the block to a fancy-schmancy café and bought a fresh-squeezed orange juice. The extortionists charged me nearly $5 for a tiny cup. It was the best five dollars I’ve ever spent. EVER. Two sips in and I was feeling human. Seriously.
Now what the fuck was up with my weird illness? I suppose it could have been a bug. It could certainly have been something I ate, but I don’t know what. Whatever it was, it’s not welcome back. DO NOT WANT.