I change by not changing at all.

It is cold in this office, ridiculously so. It is the beginning of October. I wore shorts all day yesterday with no problem. Today I am wearing a long sleeved shirt and khakis, and there is no reason why I should be sitting with my arms hunched at my sides for warmth and shaking involuntarily. I am convinced that it is all a massive plot to freeze my brain and keep me from having independent thoughts. If you stay here longer for a year, it probably works. That's why the creepy little guy at the other end of the row of cubicles has been here for five years. That, and he has to keep a low profile to avoid being discovered as an alien in disguise. Did I mention it is cold in here?

Gordon's Vodka and I may be enduring a trial separation for the foreseeable future. Saturday night was the first cast party that I could call my own in quite some time, so I figured I would finish off the bottle of Gordon's that Carrie and I shared last weekend. After all, there was only a quarter of a one liter bottle left, that couldn't be any more than 5 to 7 shots, right? Oh ho. Naturally, I didn't take into consideration the eight months or so that it took me to finish my last bottle of Gordon's, the 1.75 liter special. Neither did it occur to me that I hadn't eaten for six hours by the time I started drinking. So, how does the rest of the story go? I wish I remembered. I was already cruising by the time I had run out of orange juice to mix, so I took a few straight shots and then started carrying around the bottle and swigging from it. No chasers or anything, mind you. So I drank for 4-5 hours solid and then had an adventurous walk home with my escorts, Boothe, Molly, and Carrie. Needless to say, I couldn't walk straight; on the contrary, I stopped dead in the middle of the street and stood there for several moments until I was nudged along to continue. Having made it back to campus, I settled down on the parapet near the library and laid down. When Molly offered me her coat for a pillow, I declined because the concrete "felt good". Only when I started feeling dizzy did I get up and resume the return trip to Middle Hall. Once there, I hunkered down on the porch with Boothe and Molly and acquiesced to their attempts to rehydrate me...sort of. I spilled just as much water as I consumed, some of it deliberately, in the belief that none-too-subtly tossing water over my shoulder was amusing. I also sent an offending broom tumbling to the ground below for no good reason. Through no small effort, I made it to the futon by 5:30 for a good morning's sleep. But for the last day and a half, I have paid dearly. The ache in the back of my head and the pressure at my temples are so persistent that what I have cannot possibly be described as a hangover. I think we've graduated to full-fledged tumor status. Best of all, THE VODKA IS NOT GONE. It currently sits in my cabinet at home, mocking me along with the tiny bottle of Smirnoff I bought "just in case". Curse you, Gordon's.

Hurrah for the Corpse Bride, and sucks to Route 301. The next time I go to Chestertown, I'll be taking the day off, I assure you of that.

Current Music: New Radicals - Someday We'll Know