It's before 6:30. I haven't been awake before 6:30 in years, probably. I woke up at six because: a. it's literally ninety degrees in my room because our air conditioner is broken and b. I'm so, so hungover and my head feels like it's about to explode. I can't think of a better simile, I'm sorry.
I even turned on the air last night, hoping that it would at least lower the temperature at least a degree or two, and this morning I woke up with my head wedged between the slanted part of my wall and my bed above the vents. It did not make me feel any cooler.
It's cooler outside than it is in my house right now. It's June fucking sixteenth.
So: to explain why I'm hungover and perhaps still a little drunk. The university had this sort of employee-appreciation picnic (although it was inside) yesterday afternoon at three o'clock. Three. O'clock. Afternoon. Still in the daylight. DAYTIME.
Anyway, I found out about this on Wednesday as I was leaving because my manager said, "Are you going to the picnic?" I have no idea what she was talking about, and she said that I probably didn't get the emails because I'm still new. This really isn't important but I took the effort to type all of that out without grammatical errors, so there's no way I'm deleting what took a lot of effort. My eyes hurt. I'm doing this all for you, people.
We all left work at three and rode the train up together to the LP campus. The party's theme was "Wild Wild West" and they were playing "Devil Went Down to Georgia" to put us in the mood, as well as handing out straw cowboy hats and bandanas. They also gave us free wine and beer, which is really the only way you get me to wear a cowboy hat for a few hours. Oh, and they also started serving shots of burbon and curacao. I'm guessing that's what was in them. I know that as the "night" went on, they became progressively stronger. And I kept drinking. Because really, I was getting paid to do so. Hell, I kept drinking after five o'clock. I'm not afraid of working overtime.
After they shut down the bar, I went to another bar down the street with two other coworkers. The fact that it was still light outside and I already could not see straight was a good enough reason for me to take it easy on the one beer I drank there. It was a PBR. It's mostly water, right? Anyway, I remember trying to explain "Virginia" to two people from Illinois. They were also Catholics, so then I tried to explain "Episcopalian," which I found difficult. I said that the fact that I couldn't explain what it was like to be an Episcopalian should give them an idea of what it's like being one.
There are a few things I'm grateful for:
1. I'm glad I got home okay. I'm much rather be hungover and sweaty in my room right now than still wandering the streets of Lincoln Park.
2. I'm glad we only ran into one other coworker, who we met at the Fullerton stop and called us out on being really drunk from about ten yards away.
3. I'm glad the emotional breakdown I had last night happened at home instead of over plastic cups of Ecco Domini merlot. Public crisis averted.
4. I'm so glad I didn't dance to the Temptations in front of people from work. Saint Vincent was obviously looking down on me.
5. I'm also glad that I saw people doing the Cha Cha Slide. I thought that was just a Southern, white-trash wedding dance. Chicagoans know how to break it down.