Hangover
The motorcycle ride from Hendersonville to Asheville was fast. At one point, we reached 95 mph. I didn't notice the sudden increase in speed when it did happen. It all just seemed deliriously fast to me. I was sitting on the back of the thing, teeth clenched and hands in frozen in little claws, keeping the bike from crashing with my will alone--it was exhausting. Humans are not supposed to travel at such high speeds, unprotected, on a road with 85,000 lb. trucks whizzing by five feet away. Motorcycles are scary.
At least my dad didn't have a problem when Dylan picked me up on it. Instead of the reaction I expected:
"You're going to die! No daughter of mine is going to ride off into the sunset with some degenerate accounting major who's only had a bike for a month. You'll be a bloody mess on the side of the highway in no time!"
It was more like this:
"Duuuuuuuuuuuude! Nice."
The party was fantastic. There were more people in Lynda's apartment than I can ever recall being there. We sang Nirvana songs, practiced Tai Chi, ate some fabulous pudding and garlic bread and baked spaghetti, learned some Jiu-jitsu moves, and were generally loud and drunk. I walked home around 5 a.m. and woke up this . . . morning at 1 p.m. with a hangover, which I still have. Dylan still has not come out of his room. I have a feeling he's lost in the whirling vortex of pain and torture that is the Righteous Hangover, and must not be disturbed.
At least my dad didn't have a problem when Dylan picked me up on it. Instead of the reaction I expected:
"You're going to die! No daughter of mine is going to ride off into the sunset with some degenerate accounting major who's only had a bike for a month. You'll be a bloody mess on the side of the highway in no time!"
It was more like this:
"Duuuuuuuuuuuude! Nice."
The party was fantastic. There were more people in Lynda's apartment than I can ever recall being there. We sang Nirvana songs, practiced Tai Chi, ate some fabulous pudding and garlic bread and baked spaghetti, learned some Jiu-jitsu moves, and were generally loud and drunk. I walked home around 5 a.m. and woke up this . . . morning at 1 p.m. with a hangover, which I still have. Dylan still has not come out of his room. I have a feeling he's lost in the whirling vortex of pain and torture that is the Righteous Hangover, and must not be disturbed.