It's been more difficult than I anticipated getting acclamated here. Nothing out of the ordinary, I presume. But boy, is it difficult to shift time zones. Since the 5th of January, I have sat awake most nights, falling asleep around 7am and waking up at 3pm. Unfortunately that means I have lost some of my first days here to jet lag. Last night I called my boyfriend and whined to him about how I AM JUST SO TIRED and I am losing precious time here and still I am not sleeping! He told me that this type of jet lag is normal when you move to a new country, and that I should make the most out of the time that I do have. So, I took his advice and I put on real clothes and went to downtown Limerick for the night. The wonderful folks I am staying with recommended a European restaurant on the river with a great bar. After walking around and exploring for myself, I decided to eat there. The bartender made me a beautiful whiskey cocktail and I ordered lamb meatballs. Now, this is a bid deal, ya see. As I am not, nor have I ever been, much of a meat person. I was starving so I went to town on the meatballs while I sat at the bar, reading, and getting drunk alone like your friendly neighborhood divorcee. Just as I had finished and ordered a glass of wine, a lovely couple came up and talked to me. The woman was Polish and the man was form Cork. They were probably in their late 20's-early 30's. The woman had studied abroad here, and so she sympathized with my lonliness in the bar. She and her husband wrote down directions to a friendly neighborhood bar just up the road where the beer is cheap and the people would "love to have a chat with ya." They told me, "If you don't take much of a liking to it, we will be just across the road from ya at Icon Nightclub. Come see us!" I thanked them profusely for their kindness, paid my bill, and went on my way. I managed to find my way there which was a miracle in and of itself. But as soon as I walked in the door I started to feel a bit odd. Like all the blood had left my face. I started sweating and it was about 30 degrees out. I felt faint and dizzy, and my stomach started rumbling. I abandoned my full Coors at the bar and stumbled to the bathroom where I prayed I would be alone. I fell to my knees and, well, tasted the lamb meatballs once more on their way out. And while I am vommitting my guts out, staring at the mess in the toilet through watery eyes, I find myself thinking, "Fuck, I spent 30 euro on that meal! (drinks included) I felt better but not quite up to snuff, so I got a cab home. I slept for about 3 hours, until I woke up woozy again. This time I ran to the dark bathroom in the house and threw up water and bile for about 20 minutes. This happened all day today until about 2pm. Haters will say I can't handle my booze. (which is slightly true, I have had a headache most of the day...) But I'm telling you that there was something fucked up about those meatballs. Or at least something my body isn't used to. Whether they were cooked differently, prepared differently, or served with spices and sauces my body doesn't recognize, my stomach rebelled. So today is meatball recovery day, eating food that is very familiar and mild to my unadventurous body like bread and cereal and tea. Megstakes: I think its fair to say that this whole story is the definition of a Megstake.
1 Comment
Jennifer L Stark
1/10/2017 11:52:56 am
As much as you are entertaining my drinking brain, I am going to suggest you never drink again. You are killing me.
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