selective memory...

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…