1/1: It hurts to swallow, it hurts to spit, and even with two Vicodin, I have a hard time sleeping. Spend most of the day on the couch watching "Law & Order: SVU." Eventually, after Jason starts being a fanboy and insists, I dress up in lacy lingerie and a waist cincher and a fancy hat bronicablue made and head to a house near Lake Merritt to play my role as Lola Vauntz, a whore in a poetry brothel.
There, I wait three and a half hours with lovely friends, all dressed lusciously and with poems tucked into their bosoms, for the arrival of Neil Gaiman*. He's getting married to Amanda Palmer tomorrow, and we are the last stop of his bachelor party. We will each take a turn sitting on his lap or at his feet, reading him poems.
I take a seat on the arm of Neil's chair and lean in to recite "The Crocodile's Toothache" by Shel Silverstein entirely from memory. It seems appropriate.
I do wish I could get the wifi here to work with my Nook, a present from J which I've brought with me, so that I could read him one of my own poems, but frankly, I'm kind of out of my head with pain and exhaustion by this point. Good, kind people fetch me whiskey since I've skipped a dose of Vicodin to drive here. Zoe Boekbinder, our madam, finds me an icepack, and I manage to stay put until after Amanda has arrived, read her own poem to Neil, and done an impromptu and quite melodramatic performance of "Missed Me" with Jason Webley on accordion.
Then I go home.
1/2: Jason and I visit his parents and bring his niece her Christmas present--which we'd forgotten on the holiday proper. I'm excited to get a guitar into her little hands.
1/3: I'm back at work biting my tongue on client calls. Literally.
* While I'm not usually one to name-drop, this is all so surreal, I kinda can't help myself.