My female readers seem to like it when I go on and on about powerful women.

I


  said goodbye to Jessika before I left for work. During this visit there had been an intensity to our friendship I either hadn't seen in a long time, or hadn't seen ever. There was also more mutual honesty and respect, at least that's the thought I'm left with.

Someone sent me email during the night saying the musings are always better with Jessika in them. My female readers seem to like it when I go on and on about powerful women, and Jessika definitely qualifies.

I


  spent much of my shift at Comet getting together a mailing list through which I can channel uncensored communications to devoted readers without badly compromising the privacy of people with whom I'd like to live happily.

My hangover wasn't too bad for much of the shift, but late in the afternoon, I found myself actually watching the clock, hoping to be able to just go home. I almost never do that at work; usually I have a disappointed and perhaps unjustified feeling of nonaccomplishment when I see I have only a half hour left on my shift.

I could follow sentences and even paragraphs, but it kept seeming as if there was no thread connecting one paragraph to the next.

But for some reason, perhaps the caffeine pills I was force-fed last night, I was feeling bad. Physically, I was cursed with propulsive diarrhea. It didn't manifest itself more than once, but it was disturbing to find myself cringing on the pot, intrepidly forcing forth odourless stuff resembling weak coffee.

Even worse than that was the dysfunction in my mind. While I was reading the Washington Post web site, I found that my higher level powers of comprehension were severely crippled. I could follow sentences and even paragraphs, but it kept seeming as if there was no thread connecting one paragraph to the next. And as I came to the end of articles, I felt unusually distressed at their brevity. I've experienced these mental effects once or twice before while hungover, and believe me, it's torture.

On the ride home to Kappa Mutha Fucka, the feelings turned into anxiousness and weak panic.

If any of you have ever received a mysterious shipment of anything odd, he may well be the person to blame.

M


atthew Hart, who for his own reasons may be in worse shape than me, had to work an extended 9 hour shift at a catering job for the C&O. He had to get dressed up, even running back to Waynesboro early this morning for appropriate shoes.

On the other hand, Deya got to stay home. She, Monster Boy and I sat around listening to music and talking together for awhile. But then my hangover's mental symptoms welled up again and I was debilitated. I lay down on a bed downstairs and eventually, happily, fell asleep.

When I awoke, no one was about, so I went off to bed in my room. The night was the coldest yet of the season, but I was too lazy to get up and turn off my fan. I reached down and pulled up all my blankets until their weight seemed as though it would transform me.

---

Alan of heinovision (who is writing again, by the way), sent me a package in the mail which I received today: a 33.6 kilobaud modem and a 90 MHz Pentium processor. He's a big believer in the strategic use of care packages. If any of you have ever received a mysterious shipment of anything odd, he may well be the person to blame. But make no mistake about it, he knows what he's doing.

For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?970920