Saturday Night Fever

I’m staying in tonight. I seem to have caught the Blogger Flu; first Blogstalker, and now me. I have a slight temperature of 99.2. (That’s Farenheit, for all you non-Americans. Celsius? Metric system? Bah. Too rational.) I was going to go out and party with MermeatherEggiac and the gang tonight, but instead I’m sitting here eating a bowl of soup. Better safe than sorry.

I had a great time with them last night, though. Bill and Ron came in from San Francisco and Boston, respectively; there was also a surprise appearance by Andy, as well as all the usual suspects, and even Beau! He has a goatee now, and I didn’t recognize him at first. Looks great.

I have low tolerance for alcohol, apparently. I had a big bowl of pasta for dinner — two, even — and yet, after three and a half beers last night, I couldn’t drink anymore, so I switched to water. That’s what happens when you weigh 125 pounds, I guess.

It’s almost seeming so routine… all these visits from far-off bloggers… I met so-and-so and so-and-so and we went to so-and-so and so-and-so and drank so-and-so. But it’s always great to meet new people, and it was wonderful finally to meet the men behind Leather Egg and Mermanaic after all these months. Now if only Jonno had shown up. It could have been like the royal family or something. Aw well.

Anyway, I’m sitting at home, finishing up my soup, and maybe I’ll make a fried-egg sandwich (you’re supposed to feed a fever, right? Or… heck, I don’t know). I’ll tool around on the Internet and try not to stress about the fact that my job ends in two weeks and I still don’t know what I’m doing afterwards, or how I’ll pay my rent next month. I’m going to send my resumé to a legal temping firm and see if I can maintain some cash flow two weeks from now.

God, this is so par for the course for me. It’s such a familiar place for me — not having a job. Happened during college, happened after college, happened after law school, and it’s about to happen now. I feel like a screw-up. I’m sure my parents won’t be happy about this. I’m sure as heck not moving back home again. They don’t want that. And neither do I.

The only difference this time around is that there’s a bunch of people reading my words, and so I feel a little less alone; maybe I’ll feel like less of a fuckup if I can remember that I have something of value to contribute to the world. Moral support, baby. That’s what it’s all about.
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