Yesterday afternoon as I lay in bed, occasionally yelling that I might die*, my roommate moved out the remainder of his things. As he packed up we chatted in this state: him, packing boxes and trotting up and down the stairs, me, laying on my side, wrapped in blankets. Given my morning of failures to keep anything down or stand upright for very long, I was going to shuffle across the street to the pharmacy for some pedialyte, that savior of dehydrated children, and trick of college kids to far gone the next day to be helped by gatorade. I guess at some point, I fell asleep.
When I woke up, pretty much all traces of him were gone. But he left me orange pedialyte, a box of sugar free popsicles (how long has it been since I had classic grape or cherry popsicles? the two packs attached kind? SO GOOD.) and kettle chips, since he said I should try to keep some salt down. It was like getting the most amazing visit from the hangover fairy. I spent the next few hours drinking pedialyte and laying on my side eating popsicles and watching netflix instant. And worried my body would be stiff forever.
With all his things gone, it seemed like the past year was all a dream, especially with his texts about the delicious stuff he left me, and saying that we’d see each other again someday.
*A housewarming, followed by a birthday party, each for very dear friends. Then bachelor party via queer dance party for my lifelong best friend who is getting married this week (I know right? more on that later.) anyway, we drank vodka like it was yearrrs ago. throwbacks.