My baby brother is off to college in Denver this week, abandoning not only his friends and girlfriend, but his needy big sister. Thus last night, we threw Alex a little going away shindig. I don’t think I drank THAT much. I certainly wasn’t pounding the Jell-O shots like my mother. But somehow I’m paying the humiliating price today.
I awoke this morning to an email from 3D, thanking me for last night’s mayhem and asking me if I remember falling down.
I’m sorry. What?
Other than my knee being in unexplainable excruciating pain, I had no inckling that in attempting to get Kim some water, I completely tumbled over, throwing water on us all.
After brunch with the kids in the Castro, I came home and watched The Deep End of the Ocean on Lifetime. With a pounding head and screaming stomach, I became so engrossed of this Michelle Pfeiffer drama about her kid that gets kidnapped and then miraculously found, that I started crying. And, I’m not talking misty eyes, slight sniffles, weepy kind of crying. I’m talking a solid ten minutes of sobbing, my shirt wet from all the liquor flavored tears, weird halted breathing thing crying.
I lost it. I completely lost it.
I knew that drinking too much made me ill and unattractive, filled with physical pain and regret of the few things I actually remember. I had no idea it could turn me into an emotional mess, the slightest bit of heavy handed family tragedy sending me into a spell that most likely alarmed the neighbors…