I was startled awake this morning my an unremembered sequence of phone calls and texts from Amy, asking if I wanted to go to mass at Redemptorist at Linwood and Broadway. I obliged, got up, showered, drank an unreasonable quantity of water, and headed to Midtown.
The previous night, I seemed to develop a slight case of raspy coughs, and thinking little of it, I turned off the light and slept comfortably, dreaming about beer, or women, or properly-balanced quotes in code, or something. I wasn't coughing when I woke up, but my surprising sudden affinity for warm, low-flow tap water jumped into my mind about the time I was turning from Pennsylvania onto the highway.
After a normal mass, at the end of which I actually received a strange wink from the priest at communion(yeah... I don't know either), Amy announced that she wanted to see where I live, and her ulterior motive of getting her new ipod to work was at least revealed. I was expecting this, of course, as I had already offered my assistance before.
So, over a couple of episodes of Arrested Development, we figured out itunes, and the process of getting files on her player. As we sat on my oh-so-clean carpet, my leg fell asleep, and I fell embarrasingly over when I got up to start a new episode. Laughs all around. After copying something like a thousand files from my player to hers, I suddenly realized that though it was about 3PM, I had yet to eat anything that day.
We headed over to the Cup, in the River Market, and found that despite my previous belief, no wireless internet is offered there. So we wound up just sitting, talking, and eating. About halfway through my southwest chicken salad wrap, I realized that I wasn't the least bit hungry, despite not having eaten since Smokin' Joe's, the previous night. That gave me another idea that all might not be right with my worldly body.
The deal was sealed, however, when I drove all the way out to Shawnee for a Super Bowl party, and got short on the phone with Amy and Heidi, who were only trying to give me directions. In addition, I still had no appetite, and the loud voice of one of the party-goers was like the blow of a hammer against my puny brain. When the fate of the Paul Allen-owned Seahawks was sealed by the good old Steelers, I rose with as much composure as I could muster, and took my leave.
I am now coughing heavily, and my headache from the party has not abated. I'm going into the office tomorrow, and I hope I feel up to it.