I was told

I was told to sit and write in my journal while the dr. makes breakfast.

Yeah, I know. It’s almost 4:30 in the afternoon. That’s just what happens these days and I ain’t complaining.

The house smells like curry, garlic and ginger and my stomach is speaking to me in tongues, mad and ravenous. My right hip thanks me for doing a couple of triangle poses. I am unraveled.

I feel like I should have gotten up this morning to help my best friend move into his new/old apartment but last night I had 2 Jamesons and for no real reason went from warm and tipsy to completely hungover by the time we got home from Jason & Scott’s housewarming party. Nauseous and headachey I hung upside down off the edge of the bed wondering when I became allergic to alcohol. I may have to shelve my love of whiskey for awhile. I will live.

Last night was oddly dreamless.

The dr. got Rockband yesterday. I don’t know how many times I sang Duran Duran but I’m pretty sure I’ve memorized the lyrics to ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’. Jordan came over and played for awhile and I’m reminded of why I’ve always thought Jordan was awesome, even when he was this quiet kid my old company hired to do weird computer design things I was not aware of.

Well, breakfast is ready. And it looks really really good.

If I could marry tofu scrambles with avocado, I would.

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