The Birthday Blog, Part III: Aftermath
Thursday was ugly. Amy arrived for a birthday dinner with my parents and for the majority of the day I was at least arguably functional.
I woke up feeling the after-effects of the previous night and for the next few hours tried to figure out what my stomach would tolerate. Shockingly enough the thing that made the beast happiest was KFC's cole slaw. This is how I learned such a thing: I drove to the Bullitt County Clerk's Office to pick up a copy of my divorce decree (I have a copy somewhere in my house, but decided to sidestep the frantic and frustrating search and go directly to what would have happened anyway).*1 On the way back I elected to purchase some chicken strips. I ordered at the drive-through and was told I needed to choose two sides to go with my meal. I picked potato wedges (the pictures looked enticing) and asked the gent on the other side of the speaker to choose something easy to eat while driving. He of course suggested the cole slaw. I sat in the parking lot rather than drive. The chicken was predictably terrible (is it soaked in lard for a week before being cooked?) but the slaw was perfect. Who knew?
Amy arrived and we drove to my parents' house where I proceeded to doze through the meal my mother had cooked. These chicken pieces were divine (she uses cake flour for the batter) and my birthday cake, from Leah at the Gallery House, was a preview of our wedding cake (almond flavored white cake with an amazing not-too-sweet icing). My father and I both swam in and out of consciousness during my opening of presents and before too long Amy and I bid our adieus. I slept on the way home.
Friday was better, though I was similarly exhausted. My CFS (Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) and fibromyalgia don't react well to my drinking copious amounts of alcohol so I don't do it often. The best way I can describe the feeling is that while my brain is completely awake and functioning, the time it takes my nerves to communicate with one another is noticeably diminished. It's like sitting in a great sluggish machine waiting for the reboot to go through. That's probably not a good thing.
Today, Saturday, I'm feeling much better, though still slow and detached from all things corporeal. It can take up to a week for me to recover which is why I don't drink to excess anymore. I am glad, though, to have done this now rather than anywhere at all near my wedding: a week recovering in St. Lucia is not how I want to spend my honeymoon.
1) I needed a copy because Amy and I got our marriage license on Friday (the 13th) and we were under the impression (mainly because we were told this was the case) I needed proof of my divorce. We went to the courthouse in La Grange and filled out a couple of questionnaires, paid $34.50, and were presented with our very own license. No one asked to see my paperwork.
One of the questions we had to answer was, "Are you related to your spouse-to-be? If so, how?" Because, you know, we're not saying it's a deal-breaker if you are. We're just askin'.
Thursday was ugly. Amy arrived for a birthday dinner with my parents and for the majority of the day I was at least arguably functional.
I woke up feeling the after-effects of the previous night and for the next few hours tried to figure out what my stomach would tolerate. Shockingly enough the thing that made the beast happiest was KFC's cole slaw. This is how I learned such a thing: I drove to the Bullitt County Clerk's Office to pick up a copy of my divorce decree (I have a copy somewhere in my house, but decided to sidestep the frantic and frustrating search and go directly to what would have happened anyway).*1 On the way back I elected to purchase some chicken strips. I ordered at the drive-through and was told I needed to choose two sides to go with my meal. I picked potato wedges (the pictures looked enticing) and asked the gent on the other side of the speaker to choose something easy to eat while driving. He of course suggested the cole slaw. I sat in the parking lot rather than drive. The chicken was predictably terrible (is it soaked in lard for a week before being cooked?) but the slaw was perfect. Who knew?
Amy arrived and we drove to my parents' house where I proceeded to doze through the meal my mother had cooked. These chicken pieces were divine (she uses cake flour for the batter) and my birthday cake, from Leah at the Gallery House, was a preview of our wedding cake (almond flavored white cake with an amazing not-too-sweet icing). My father and I both swam in and out of consciousness during my opening of presents and before too long Amy and I bid our adieus. I slept on the way home.
Friday was better, though I was similarly exhausted. My CFS (Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) and fibromyalgia don't react well to my drinking copious amounts of alcohol so I don't do it often. The best way I can describe the feeling is that while my brain is completely awake and functioning, the time it takes my nerves to communicate with one another is noticeably diminished. It's like sitting in a great sluggish machine waiting for the reboot to go through. That's probably not a good thing.
Today, Saturday, I'm feeling much better, though still slow and detached from all things corporeal. It can take up to a week for me to recover which is why I don't drink to excess anymore. I am glad, though, to have done this now rather than anywhere at all near my wedding: a week recovering in St. Lucia is not how I want to spend my honeymoon.
1) I needed a copy because Amy and I got our marriage license on Friday (the 13th) and we were under the impression (mainly because we were told this was the case) I needed proof of my divorce. We went to the courthouse in La Grange and filled out a couple of questionnaires, paid $34.50, and were presented with our very own license. No one asked to see my paperwork.
One of the questions we had to answer was, "Are you related to your spouse-to-be? If so, how?" Because, you know, we're not saying it's a deal-breaker if you are. We're just askin'.