December 21, 2011

Dear Babies,

FYI, the going rate for throwing up in the back of a Dial 7 car is $100.

The going rate for throwing away your dignity is undetermined.

Hopefully, you will never need to use any of these pearls of wisdom I’ve learned for you through blood, sweat and lychee martinis.

Hopefully, you will never know what it’s like to walk through this door at one a.m., strip off puke-covered clothes and walk up the stairs in your black socks and underwear crawl into bed cowering like a wounded lamb.

But if by unfortunate chance say you do, know that you must pay the piper. You reap what you sow. I’ve mentioned consequence recently, and today–this living head pounding agony–is a prime example of one.

It’s 3 days, 14 hours and 44 minutes till Christmas and I have so much to do. I wish I wasn’t setting my Christmas dining room table while fighting back throwing up in my mouth, dreaming of cheese fries. Alas…

Yet again, life goes seldom how you plan.

And today is going to be a very long day.



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