Monday, March 29, 2010

Week 13: Time to put your bookmark in, Mr. Brady

This was me at about 12:15 am on Sunday. I was at a party. (I know my hair looks terrible, I'm getting it cut this week. DON'T JUDGE ME) I had been throwing down vodka tonics for about two hours, counting down the minutes until midnight (although at a few points I was fairly certain time was moving in reverse.) At about 11:50, I headed out to the 7-Eleven a couple blocks away. I updated my Facebook status as I walked, in order to not waste time. Selected a Big Gulp cup, filled it a third of the way with ice and then my one perfect love, Coke. Paid for it, headed out, and about half a block into the walk, the clock struck midnight and I took a sip. It...was...delicious. I think I stumbled a little, but I don't know if it was from delight or drunkenness. You can see in the photo my last vodka tonic, ice melted, rejected in favor of the Coke. I chugged that bastard like there was no tomorrow.

It was a blissful reunion until my insides exploded up into my esophagus. I hadn't had much to eat besides popcorn before I started drinking, so I think artificial butter plus vodka tonic plus 32 ounces of Coke = burny. No barfing, but I had to contort myself over an armchair for a while trying to twist into a position that didn't make my chest feel like it was full of angry alien when a Jay Baruchel lookalike in pleated khakis (see also: Peter ten years ago) came over to chat. It's tough to be charming and pleasant when you're in esophageal agony, but maybe being bent backwards over an armrest with a leg in the air makes up for lack of conversational aplomb because he stuck around for a while. Eventually the acid roaring in my torso settled down to a dull fizz, and I was able to stand upright again and return to insulting my husband in front of his friends.

We headed home after the party and didn't get to sleep until maybe 2:30 or so, only to have to get up for a fundraising meeting at noon. I woke up around 7:45 and couldn't go back to sleep, so I took a long shower then went back to bed. Still couldn't sleep, but I didn't want to get up either, so I just burrowed under the covers until about 9:30 and we went to get the kids from my mom's. A couple of very fine friends were willing to watch Hannah (and Ollie!) while we were at the meeting, so we dropped them off and headed to the meeting. Now at this point I fully expected to be back on the Coke wagon, but after the ass-kicking I'd received a few hours before, it just didn't sound that appealing. What I really wanted was a big ol' glass of water. Of course, once food was in front of me I went ahead and ordered a Coke (well, Pepsi) anyway, but I only drank about a fifth of it. At home later that evening, I had a can of Coke and I didn't finish that one either. Is it possible that the threat of wicked heartburn is enough to dry up my Coke lust? I don't know, but I do know that I haven't had a Coke yet today.

The residual effect a boozy and burny Saturday had on my Sunday was that I was painfully low on sleep. I was able to catch about a half-hour's nap later in the afternoon, but I was still dragging ass most of the day. Thus, borne of convenience and a strong desire to sleep, I resolved to make week 13 bedtime week -- I must be in bed by 11 pm every night. I don't have to be asleep, but I do need to be in bed. We don't have a TV in our bedroom so I can't cheat by catching up on TV into the wee hours. I could read in bed but I'm only good for about half an hour of reading at night while lying down before I get sleepy so it's not to my sleep total detriment. I was in bed by 10:45 last night, asleep by 11, and man, was my body was grateful for it this morning. Eight and a half hours in happy sleepy land. I'm sure this'll put a damper on weekend activities but it's all for science. An 11 pm bedtime on a Saturday isn't the worst thing in the world, is it?

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