Well.... any previous comment that jet lag is fun is revoked. Jet lag sucks. Jet lag is horrible.... jet lag is .... potentially a little humerus?
So I lolled around yesterday, not exactly doing anything productive (and just when I'd started I'd been interrupted... and then again, and then I eventually had an excuse... I mean something important came up, and I had to leave the house)and I was feeling okay, a little peculiar, but I just blamed it on lack of sleep and left.
I got home around 6:30 and my friend didn't get off work until 8:00 so I thought that by setting my alarm for 8:05 I would have enough time to wake up and be gung ho for the evening. Oh, ps. no one is home, and I don't like that very much. So I leave the lights on, I don't even go under the blankets, I just lie on top of by bed.
Sleep didn't take long to come. I was out so quickly I only vaguely remember my mom coming home and thinking that it was okay for me to sleep through my alarm, because well... when my friend came I would have to be woken up to go get him at the door.
Anyways, I slept through the alarm, and no one woke me up to go get him. Have you ever been told not to wake a sleep walker? I guess, in his defense, I wasn't walking... I was just sort of standing in my room. (At least from what he's told me) I was still dead out cold and had NO idea what was going on. I think I'd been dreaming he had come upstairs, but then I wasn't actually dreaming about him, just about the stuff around him.
So here's my friend, trying to ask me if I'm okay, because I look sick and I'm not even speaking in real words, and there's me: fumbling around my bedroom trying to figure out what was going on.
I really don't remember him coming up stairs. I remember him being there but there were streamers all over, hanging from the ceiling... but there were no streamers when I came home so... I MUST have been out of it.
Continuing. So he keeps asking me if I'm okay; "Steph, are you okay?". And I'm really upset about something, which is why I guess he thought I was sick. I finally manage to gain a small fraction of conciseness and stumble over the words, "Your present!"
"I know!" he said. "That's what we're doing!"
I just got back from Egypt a couple days ago (hense the jet lag) and I'd gotten him some stuff for Christmas... or maybe I got it just because it's automatically a cool gift because it's form Egypt. Anyways. I hand him the unwrapped stuff and he graciously works through the little pile.
It was a pretty cool little haul, I must say. But there were no shiny yellow Tonka trucks or remote control mouses or whatever guys remember ever getting for Christmas. But there WAS a story behind each object! I then proceeded to become more upset because I couldn't remember the stories behind the present! And I thought, well, the gift is already 50% cool because it's from Egypt... but what about the other 50%? The meaning behind each little trinket.
By the end of the night I had managed to explain sort of what the stories were, but I'll have to really make sense of it for him sometime today. Because the stories are good. :)
I'm eventually conscious enough to get into the vehicle and leave my house behind. I'm apologizing for my strange behavior and he's telling me what I'd been doing, but I really still wasn't 100% there.
We get to our destination and say hello. They start making pizza and I take a seat at one of the super cool chairs in my super cool friend's house. Actually. She's amazing. Like I said before, I'm new to this whole blogging thing (and someone told me video blogging is VLOGGING not video... logging or what ever I said before)and I don't know if you're supposed to use real names? Cause... I used MY real name, and I guess the two people who will actually read this are probably the two people who have been referred to as "my friend" or "my super cool friend".
Back on topic. I don't remember why I'm there. I have a glass of water, and I'm just watching them get the pizza ready and suddenly I realize it's not an earth quake, my stomach is just under attack. I get sick a lot. All the time. It sucks. But I don't really make I big deal about it, because I'm used to it. So I lock my self in the bathroom and try to control my militarily abused insides. Usually cold water helps.
I also shake a lot, usually when I'm sick, which is usually. So we all go sit by the fireplace in the super cool downstairs. The warmth eases the shaking. Normal (GAH why am I using that word?) people would go home if they feel sick right? Okay, maybe I should just break it to you now so we don't have to discuss it later. If there was a way to describe a stereotypical teenager as three things (angsty, smart-ass, broody) my super cool friends and I would probably be insane, out of control and super. So, we aren't stereotypical teenagers. Or people. We're us. That's all.
So the way I was looking at it was, I could go home and be sick there, or I could stay with my super cool friends in her super cool basement and watch a really lame movie. It hurt to move. I think the combination of not sleeping for three days and being on this artificial high that I must be finally turning into a vampire and if I don't need sleep, why do I need food?! EDWARD HERE I COME. ha. just joking. Anyways, maybe the fact I hadn't slept was making me so sick I couldn't eat had something to do with the whole dream like state I was still in.
I could only sort of answer questions, and they could say stuff about fire breathing dragons and I would just nod my head and try not to move anything else for fear of pain.
Their pizza concoction... which had stuffing on it (super cool friend's dad's idea) actually got pretty good reviews. I sat on the couch, unmoving. We watched King Pin, which is totally not appropriate and highly disturbing and parts but still guiltily a little funny. I fell asleep.
'My friend'... my unnamed friend. (why am I making such a big deal about the no names?) drove me home. We'd all managed to have a good time, we always do, but it sucks because super cool goes to school out of town. I'd also managed to remain such a stillness that I hadn't actually had to give in to the raging war my insides were fighting. I was finally probably 93% there by the time I got out of the car.
Walking up three flights of stairs doesn't count as stillness. Gah. My insides finally won before I made it back to my bedroom, and there was an open present on my bed. You rock friend. Your new code name can be uber cool. I hope super cool doesn't mind that you get uber in your code name. Sometime after my delirious attempt at explaining his trinkets, he'd given me something. I sort of remember opening it, and he had said something when I left the car, like "do you remember what you opened before you left?" but I really hadn't until I saw it right in front of me.
The moral of this story is to not fight jet lag. When you get home at 1 am after a full 24 hours of plane flights, go to bed. I don't care how awake you are. Go to bed. Stay in bed. Maybe eat something...
But it's times in life when we fight our instincts and we ignore advice that we make memories. Jet lag sucks, yes. Friends are worth everything? Double yes. I fell asleep listening to the XX cd my uber cool friend got for me, even though I freaked the heck out of him by being woken out of my sleep-standing? Triple yes.
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