I went to a friend’s Whiskey Fest tonight and sampled forty million kinds of whiskey infused with various household goods (rosemary, apples, mint, peppers), sat around a smokey fire pit, stopped by another friend’s house to dip some pretzels in chocolate dip, and read 43 pages of Lady Chatterley’s Lover (summary: old England is dead! new England has too many heartless machines! Have passionate, unprotected sex with the gamekeeper, a hottie with a dark past!). I tried to take a nap but the university band was practicing outside my window and my upstairs neighbor kept having one of her coughing spells. I worked at the library and showed “Deep Impact” at the final installment of our Armageddon Film Series to a crowd of seven well-meaning dorks. I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t fall back asleep because my arm felt weak and I was worried it might be Multiple Sclerosis or, inexplicably, AIDS.
(That was all backwards. Reverse the chronology.)