Yeah, I know

I have been remiss. I feel like if I am writing at all this month, it should be for NaNoWriMo. But it's not. Not this time. No way. Instead, I am trying desperately to catch up on sleep after a teething week that ended with my friends from Dubai coming in for a landing at our house the past three days, the last night of which had me drinking Three. Whole. Beers. Three. I stood in awe of the gaggle of lesbians I was carousing with in the Castro, for they indeed knew how to pound the liquid barley and hops with aplomb. I am still recovering. Seriously. I am such a wuss. I have felt dehydrated for the past three days, the worst symptoms manifesting last night, when I had a recurring dream (meaning, I kept having it for two hours - not kidding - I kept looking up at the clock whenever I woke up in fits and starts) in which I was desperately searching in and around a vague geographical setting of twin, parallel rivers for my missing children. Yeah, fun stuff. Needless to say, I am not doing well today, in terms of functioning. The kids are taking it in stride, however, and they are beautiful as ever. Ah, what my collegiate doppelganger would say to my general lack of alocholic tolerance. The term "bah hah" comes to mind. Or maybe my 20-year-old self would pretend not to know my 35-year-old wretched self. I am pretending not to know me, right now. I will write more when I get the chance, but it won't likely be until tomorrow night, at the earliest. I want to talk about my visitors, my writings of late, and the fact that I now have to go get genetic testing done in San Francisco in December, to find out if I am one of the one in five hundred with a mutation that may kill me. And with that, I say, good night, and pass the water glass.