Do you know how sometimes you have a
bad feeling, like you did something really
wrong, and you just cannot think of what you
might have done? For no good reason whatsoever,
you are filled with a sense of doom and
foreboding, like you forgot your mother?s
birthday or ate that egg salad that had been
sitting in the sun all day or aren?t quite sure
whether you remembered to sign your taxes or
not. You know it is not any of those things, and
yet you are just sick with the certainty that
something really bad is about to happen to you.
Know that feeling? I did not have that feeling
even once yesterday. I was still feeling a
little sick from Wednesday, when I felt very
sick (and even after I went to bed Wednesday
night, I still woke up twice in the middle of
the night with these terrible stomach pains,
where I was just curling and writhing on the
bed. Being in pain while half-asleep is the
worst, because you are not conscious enough to
rationalize the pain, and in the blindness of
your unreason, it really feels like you are
going to die. Sleep pain is twice as scary as
any regular pain), but I bravely went into work
today, and even thought I felt like I was
working through a three-inch curtain of gauze, I
slugged through my day. I went to meetings, I
tried to answer emails coherently, and I nodded
sagely whenever it looked like anyone was asking
my opinion. And then after work, I had time to
kill before fencing at 8pm, so I thought, hey!,
I?ll go see a movie. So I strolled up the street
and saw Daredevil (two second review: it was
okay in the sense that I will watch any action
adventure flick and have a good time, but I am
glad I didn?t waste anyone else?s time in seeing
it with me). Then I stopped in at Gameworks and
played a couple of rounds of DDR against this
probably 19-yo kid who most likely thought he
was going to have an easy time of it until he
picked the first song and I cranked the
difficulty level up to expert. It turned out we
were at almost identical skill levels. Which
means if I had been playing at all the last six
months that I probably could have kicked his
college-aged behind into next week. But I was
happy just to hold my own. Again, at no time
during any of this was I having anything other
than a pleasant, carefree day. So I walked back
to work, all sweaty and excited. I was, to be
honest, strutting. I felt pretty darned good
about my recent DDR performance as well as the
residual buzz from the exciting movie and two
packs of peanut M&Ms. I biked to my car. I
drove to fencing. I bought some raffle tickets,
because that is the sporting kind of guy I am. I
fenced, and my hapless foes fell before me like
so many before who wished too late that they had
not left their haps at home. Sweaty but happy
(hmm ? as I think back, being sweaty is
generally associated with being happy. I cannot
think of many things that make me sweaty and
unhappy. Even unpleasant sweat-producing
activities such as moving are worth it in the
end. Maybe the only exception is those
appallingly hot days where there is nothing you
can do but suffer and hold ice cubes in your
armpits )
Sweaty and happy, I drove home. I pulled into my
dark and empty house, and, dropping all my
stuff, hit Play on the answering machine. ?You
have five messages,? the female robot voice
said. ?Wow,? I thought, totally carefree in the
last few seconds of my life before dying of
mortification, ?lot of telemarketers out
tonight!? Then the five messages played, and it
turned out that I was the biggest ass on the
planet. We were, I was suddenly reminded, going
to have poker at my house last night with the
crisis clinic crew. The first message was from
G~, who was almost over at my house. The next
message had people sitting outside my door ?
with beer, no less! The next message was, ?hey,
I was about to come over, but it sounds like
you?re not there?? Then two more messages asking
what the heck happened to me as everyone?s night
basically disintegrated because I am a bad
person and an idiot. I had bought in on poker
night while in Mexico. And honest to god, I
thought the date was in March. Maybe because all
the March dates are on the same weekdays as the
Feb dates. Maybe because I am an inattentive
dolt. After I accepted, I saw no more email, and
the one mail I got yesterday morning was just
asking about what time it should be scheduled
for. Nothing at all like, ?cool! I?ll see you
tonight!? Nothing about who was coming, or
division of snack-bringing duties, or
discussions of pizza ordering. All the pre-event
chatter that I would have expected, and would
have tipped me off, was totally absent from my
mailbox. Notwithstanding, last night was
supposed to be the night, and ignorance of the
party is no excuse, as any police officer will
tell you. And I was not home. No one was home.
All my friends, people who I really like and
would have much rather spent my evening with,
were left stranded outside my house, after
driving all the way up to Shoreline. I had a
great evening, and in the process, ruined six or
so other people?s evenings. I feel terrible
about it. I feel just sick to my stomach. I
cannot imagine why these people would ever agree
to come to my house again. I mean, how do you
miss a date by an entire month?!! I am so, so
very sorry!