Image courtesy of Emily Chapman. Licensed under CC BY 2.0.
I spent last Sunday vomiting up a wide variety of food and drink. Veggie burger. Orange juice. Blueberries. In my house. In my dad’s house. Out of a vehicle onto Morningside Drive, in front of a family out for a bike ride. (My profuse apologies to whoever’s streetfront that was.)
Unprepared as I was for the sudden strike of gastrointestinal upheaval, I wound up having to call my dad and ask him, feebly, to retrieve me so that if I collapsed from dehydration, someone would notice and take me to the hospital. (The cat, though he is a lovely roommate, is not very considerate about these things.)
I livetweeted the whole event, of course, because I am disgusting. When I returned to work on Tuesday, I was reminded of which coworkers follow me on Twitter, because they all started conversations with me by saying, “Oh good, you’re not throwing up anymore!” So that was illuminating.
As I write this on Sunday afternoon, I am not sick. Instead, I have spent the day eating entirely too much good food, and am currently sitting in a wonderful coffee shop/gallery full of well-behaved children and paintings of super heroes, which is playing Johnny Cash. I am drinking a drink mostly made of half and half and contemplating just how excited I am to be moving to this neighborhood soon. It is 70 degrees outside, and sunny. My birthday is in a week.
Y’all, when I think about my life priorities à la this Bullish column, they basically boil down to “fewer situations in which I have to abide by consensus decisions,” and “more time spent in coffee shops with big windows where crying children are taken outside.” There are others (maximizing time in beautiful spaces, porches, family), but those top the list.
Before I was in this coffee shop, I was in Oakland Cemetery. Instead of being haunted by the grim specter of mortality, Oakland is mostly a giant park in the middle of town with some lovely sculptures. There are dead people, certainly, but they’re not disruptive. Typically it’s quiet. Often there are joggers. This time there was a truly massive great dane, and a whole set of daffodils. It was a lovely spot to absorb the weather without battling the Beltline‘s crowds or Piedmont’s frisbee players. I didn’t even have to fight for parking.
I am going to spend the rest of the day drinking my ridiculous coffee drink, and going to improv class, and possibly napping. I am very, very pleased.