Seattle Hangover

I want to tell you that things have improved since my last post and I now love August. Turns out you don't always get what you want.

I cursed the month and then fled the state. Not really connected but you never know when a caring friend will turn up with wedding cake to destroy your self-pity. And I knew my brother Philip and his wife Annie would not have any wedding cake so I could safely hate August from their Seattle apartment.

The dismal gray skies were ordered and delivered after a week of record-high temps. Perfect. On that first day Phil invited me to all-you-can-eat sushi. He convinced me to pile my plate high with the unknown. We sat down and with a boyish grin reminiscent of the horror stories he told me in my youth, he explained the Sushi Hangover. An experience I laughed at...until the next morning.

The day of indulgence was amazing. We walked the city recklessly. Blisters? Never. Side-ache? No. Weary, tired, irritable? I felt like an Olympian, or what I'd imagine an Olympian to feel like if they were high on raw fish. We stayed up well into the night—one of us knowing the next day would hurt, one of us beginning to forgive August.

The next morning we sluggishly drove to the water for a kayaking adventure. I didn't feel too horrible. The day after that we trekked up a mountain. Again I felt fine once I was up. The day after that we went trail riding cowboy style. By now the Sushi Hangover had passed and it didn't seem bad.

Wait. I have the world's slowest metabolism. I know this in the shadowy regions of my mind but I like to forget it. It became unforgettable when the Sushi Hangover hit me on Sunday, three days late. Luckily it also lasted about three days, haunting me through Tuesday. You may not believe, few do. I mocked Phil a bit about it myself and paid a price.

Karma or just old-fashioned big brother knows best?