Saturday morning, I got out of bed and went to a yoga class. We had plans to meet Michael's moms for lunch at 1:00, so I felt like I had plenty of time to go grocery shopping and lolly gagging around Target. I was on my way to the check out line in Trader Joe's when I noticed a text from Michael wondering where I was and that we needed to leave the house in thirty minutes. This sort of shook me out of lolly gagging mode and I replied back with "whoops! On my way home!" Even though I had just stepped into the checkout line. Sometimes yoga makes me loopy or just so relaxed that I don't give a shit about anything, particularly time. Michael's text reminded me that we had things to do, people to see. I wiped the fog from my brain and hurried home.
Except that I never really seemed to completely wipe the fog clear. I feel like I just sort of floated through the weekend. About the only things I accomplished were laundry, washing the stinky dog, and hiding Easter eggs. We spent Easter with my KC family doing our traditional Adult Easter egg hunt and burning of the Easter effigy. This year's effigy was Trump as the Easter bunny. His polyester sports jacket went up in a flash and burned up completely before anyone had time to cue up an appropriate song to play. I drank too much gin along with random shots from airport sized bottles of Fireball and whiskey and tequila. I ate too much food because I'd skipped lunch. I laughed hard and danced a whole lot. A woman at the party told me that I would get breast cancer from wearing my phone tucked into my bra strap. I swallowed the urge to say "lady, you're crazy pants and this is the least of the things that I've exposed myself to over the years of working in a lab that's going to give me cancer." Instead, I respectfully pulled my phone from my bra strap and set it on the table. The woman is older and potentially wiser.
The next morning I woke up an hour late for work. My mouth was dry and I could still smell burning polyester and paper mache. The dog who had spent the evening begging food and chasing Miles around the backyard, was still tucked into my right side under the comforter. We all had hangovers. I spent the day lounging around, getting up on occasion to vacuum and wash the couch blankets. I haven't entered my food in my Loose It app since Sunday morning and I'm feeling the guilt of that settling in. I'm feeling the guilt of all my imperfections settling in and how I should do better, be better, eat better. I should spend less and toss out more. I should be more organized and on top of things. The house should be cleaner. I should be better at verbal communication. I should be teaching yoga. I should be reading more because it makes you a better writer and I should be writing more because I am not a good writer these days.
All of these thoughts makes me mad at myself. I tell myself to snap out of it, don't let yourself fall into the pit of not enough, but it's too late. I've done it and now I have to drag myself out of it. I know it's the hangover talking. At least I think it's the hangover talking. I hope it's the hangover talking because I don't have time to battle with a bought of malaise right now. Maybe I really do have radiation poisoning.