"It's the morning we leave for Nashville and I'm hungover. I just don't know it yet.

Maybe it's the years of practice I have making that labored stretch of ten paces, from the bedroom to my shower, knowing that it promises a sobering 15 minute rinse that will open my eyelids to their underlying red marbles. I usually manage to get that far quite well.

But it's when the rush of promptly getting to work is gone, and I'm sedentary behind a desk, when the mental circus music really starts playing. The hunger, the headache, the churning guts. And if it's compounded by a take-off or mid-flight turbulence, then whimpering and sickened groans and sighs are also involved.

I'd made it through the morning long enough to get to the airport without one complaint. But when our belts were buckled, we were one our way to Minnesota and the words in my Jill Soloway book started dancing, I began to worry. After surfing a wave of nausea, I opened my eyes to find that Rob had placed the motion sickness bag on my lap.

Oh I hate you vodka. You're colorless and summer-y and mix well with fruit juice but there's alchemy in your bottle. It can turn you from a clear liquid form to a textured, multicolored mess. Truly magical.

I wasn't going to let our "pre-anniversary-celebration-celebration" ruin the excitement of leaving California for four days. I savored every sip of my comforting bloody mary mix for the ten minutes it lasted. I buried my head into Rob's shoulder. I tried to eat my Slim Jim even though chewing required the use of more energy then my body could possibly expend. And when we started to land and I realized that none of those things made me feel better, I took the vulnerable barf bag and tucked it behind the cover of my book.

I'm happy to say that I never had to use that vulnerable sack. At the Saint Paul airport, we had time to eat and decided to get some lunch at Chili's. I heard the best meal for a hangover is one that consists of eggs and a banana smoothie, for the protein and potassium. So I ordered a bowl of chili and a side Caesar salad. How that has any nutritional relevance to this story I don't know, but I rationalized it with a brain that was simmering in a skull of drunken broth."

-the first and only completed entry from my Nashville journal