I had such great plans this weekend, yes such great plans. I'm slightly disappointed, but not completely. I still had such a great weekend. It's difficult to decide whether or not I would trade it for the weekend I originally had planned. Circumstances come and go, things happen that we don't expect, and who can really trade that? This is life. This is experience. This is the story that I'll tell my grandchildren later (bless the grandchildren, bless their hearts). Who can exchange this? Not I. So that settles it then. I wouldn't exchange it. DC will come another weekend. Dr. Brian will be another time.
So yes, that is the weekend I originally had planned. I was going to head down to the District Saturday morning and help Rinnie fix the computer at the old office and then trip around the DC metropolitain area for the rest of the day -- hello, how are you? Good to see you again. Gracious, your hair is getting long! Want to grab a drink? Let's eat Thai for dinner, etc. -- then I was going to spend the night in my old apartment or on campus, whichever was available, and head out to the Eastern Shore on Sunday afternoon, post church activities. It didn't quite happen this way, oh no, it did not.
Friday evening I was to be in the city for an engagement dinner - something I really had no desire to miss. It was for a good friend, former roommate, future lifelong pal (I can hope so anyway) and although I would be attending her wedding in about five weeks, I wanted to see her and her fiance - it had been awhile. That, and I had never really been invited to a dinner party. My evening to feel posh, jaded, protected, privileged. I would drink decent champagne, eat shrimp cocktail the size of my head, sit on the sofa and discuss things that I didn't understand or ever cared to understand. The appeal? eh, not quite sure. But I wanted to do it just the same. Mainly, I was going to see PB. I won't hilight the journey home I had from Manhattan or the difficulties thereof, even though they are oh so interesting.
Fast forward to 8:30 Saturday morning and fast forward the contents of my stomach, up my esophagus, and out my mouth (damn that shrimp cocktail). No need for further dilineation.
I remained in bed most of the day and I realized sometime around 2PM that I would most definitely NOT be driving anywhere, and most certainly not DC. Sadness, indeed. At 2PM I was doing a bit better, nausea wise, but was feeling quite stale and had no desire (or at least no great desire) to sit in the car for four hours to arrive in the district by 6PM. So I made the best of the situation. I took the dog out in the lawn along with my current read and enjoyed the sunshine that was. I went out to dinner with Bonny at 9PM. I accomplished little, but oh so much. It was glorious.
Yesterday Kelly came over and we busted out the maps and my Weird NJ book. We decided to go for a drive. It took us nearly an hour to get there. Where were we going? Nowhere, really. But it took us an hour to get there just the same. We cruised down Clinton Road. My leg was shaking. I wasn't stopping, no, not for anything. I didn't travel below 35 mph the entire road. Up, down, left, right - the curves and bends were extraordinary, rivaling Marilyn Monroe during her best years. Kelly grabbed the side handle for dear life and laughed in nervousness as I nearly went off the road. We had conquered Clinton Road. It was exactly 9 miles from end to end and we had conquered it. I needed a cigarette. I needed Chicago. Yes, you ARE my inspiration, Clinton Road - you're my bitch.
We then decided what needed to be done. We stopped at a local grocery store and bought the goods for making pizza. Oh, and chocolate syrup. That's always key for some reason. We went home and made pizza and drank beer and had ice-cream with fresh strawberries (and the fore-mentioned chocolate syrup). We watched Latino stand-up comedy and stayed up later than we should have.
It was a good weekend. It was a great weekend.