This year was pretty clearly the worst St. Paddy’s Day of the decade for me.
I was already mocking myself on Thursday night because my plans for celebrating were basically:
1) dress Sarah in a green shirt
2) go see V For Vendetta
which is a much less rambunctious celebration than it has been for most of the last decade.
However, I guess I kind of got in the spirit after all. Well, more in the spirit of March 18th, than 17th, I guess.
You see I woke up on St. Paddy’s morning feeling like I had the world’s worst hangover. You know the one–the one that’s going to last for more than a day: pounding headache, nausea and disruption through your entire gastrointestinal system, aching joints, cold sweat, vertigo,… the total package. It was either really long lasting food poisoning, or else the stomach flu.
I wish I had been clever enough to think “Wow, I must really drink tonight, since my hangover was so powerful it traveled backwards in time!”. Actually I was thinking something more like ‘Blurggh!”.
It seemed dramatically unfair to feel like that without doing anything fun. I ended up taking the day off work–just sitting up made me nearly vomit and passing most of the day in the vivid, restless sleep of fever. I basically slept until 4PM, and didn’t manage to eat or drink anything until 10PM.
The rest of the weekend was a milder version of the same, and in fact, I shouldn’t be working today either, but I have things that need to get done.
