How I spent my Easter Sunday
By Peter F’ing Rabbit
No, this isn’t a tail of the Easter Bunny
hopping down the bunny trail hiding eggs for all the kiddos out there. It’s simply
what I decided to go with. I liked the sound of it. I could feel it.
Yesterday morning, I woke at some point in
the 9 o’clock hour and didn’t really want to get out of bed, but I did.
Stumbled to the kitchen to fix a jar of coffee. Yes, a jar of coffee. A little cream
and a little sugar. Hoping for a kick to give me some energy that I sure as
hell wasn’t feeling.
Hank Williams Jr. in a song about his Rowdy Friends settling down, states that “Hangovers
hurt more than they used to”, if one wants to argue I was experiencing a
Hangover yesterday morning they would be wrong, since I didn’t drink a drop,
but I can say I was experiencing hangoveresque tendencies. My head felt heavy,
tired, exhausted. I didn’t replace my pills and 90 proof with corn bread and
iced tea, simply because I don’t have pills and rarely drink 90 proof. Hell,
maybe that is part of the problem. I might’ve felt better. Maybe not after the
fact, but at some point in the process.
That song hits home. Partially due to the
Rowdy Friends. He rattles off lyrics of
his cohorts and how they’ve settled down. If I were a singer, I could alter the
lines about Johnny Cash and acting like he did in ’68. It would be “RADIO EDIT”
and ’88, but it would fit. In more ways
than one it would fit.
Thankfully, I don’t abuse people’s eardrums
by singing. They’d have to have a lot of pills and 90 proof to get that to
happen, oh and then about three people to hold my ass up. Not happening.
I drank my jar of coffee and it never really
hit. Misfire. I did a little work, touched base here, touched
base there, but a cool, rainy dreary day didn’t really make you want to do much
I felt like I was running a fever, I didn’t
press my phone to my forehead in hopes of finding an app, I didn’t put a thermometer
in my ass, or my mouth for that matter, but I could tell I was running hot.
I crawled back into bed wishing I could hibernate
like some form of Grizzly. It didn’t happen. I put Netflix on, and poured
through some episodes of Frasier. I started to drift, so I switched it to Parks
and Recreation since I’ve seen those enough that they can blur me into
I tossed and turned some, never really found
a comfortable spot, but did rest far more than the typical Sunday. I ate some
Clam Chowder for lunch, which was another misfire. It didn’t hit the spot
either. That happens.
I put Frasier back on and limped through the
day spending the afternoon/evening in and out of bed.
I ate dinner(burger/fries) and watched the 2nd
half of the Carolina game.
I kicked around on the internet a bit, you
know the web (stole that from an elder gentleman at an Atlanta Braves baseball game
I was finally calling it a night, turned the
monitor off, grabbed some water, got ready for bed and finally crawled in.
I watched “Shameless”, and I’ll watch it
again, but it was a good one. At times you start to feel a bit sorry for Frank,
well until he “Franks again”, Yes, I’m using it as a verb, in this case it
would be defined as “the act of being a Frank”. That is one dysfunctional
family, and the strange thing is that there are moments that they can appear
happy. Dynamic show.
I took a melatonin at this point and was
winding down, but it wasn’t turning out the lights. I watched “The Walking Dead”,
and while it’s nearly a 180 from Shameless, it was a good episode. I’m still a bit surprised that I like it, but
it is a good show.
At that point, I put Netflix back on and
decided to go with “That 70’s Show”, Red Forman calling teenagers “dumb asses”.
Can’t go wrong with that. Like Parks and Recreation, I’ve seen it enough that
it can normally blur me into sleep.
It wasn’t happening. I went to the bathroom,
got 2 allergy pills, and 2 night time cold pills, and another melatonin. Some
90 proof and I would have had a nice little nighty night cocktail.
I cut the volume down more on the tv and
grabbed my tablet. The cocktail that I did consume and reading should do the
I had about 25-30% left in the Cameron Crowe
novel “Fast Times at Ridgemont High”. I
had no plans of finishing it last night, and while there is no clock in my room
to see the big hand turn faster than the little hand, or anything like that,
the clock on the tablet changed from 2, to 3 to 4, and was closing in on five
when I finally finished the book. Yet, some Anesthesiologist scoffed at me when
I told him “he needed to get something stronger” after he told me a shot would
be like a “six pack on an empty stomach”, dude was wasting his time.
The book was good, again, similar to the
movie yet a bit different. A bit more detailed. I enjoyed it. Stirred up some
old memories. Saw some similarities that took you back to your own time,
dusting off the cobwebs as you travel through the brain cave.
I tapped the Nick Offerman book and he gave
me a bit more than a chapter, I moved on to Charles Bukowski’s “Notes of a Dirty
Old Man”, and read about 5% before my eyes finally closing on the day.
Some days simply don’t have a chance. Easter
Sunday, + lackluster weather + running a fever + it being my mom’s birthday. I’m
amazed I was awake so long. Happy Birthday mom.
This morning isn’t much better. The sun is out
showing its ass; the jar of coffee hasn’t made contact yet. I’m not running a fever at the moment, but I
still feel a bit off.
Oh and the three to four hours I did sleep
left me with another odd dream that I’m trying to piece together.
Monday’s gotta love them.
A ghost of Easter past. It does irk me how the holiday dances around a calendar.
One thing that didn’t change from last year to this is that I fell asleep last night watching Parks and Recreation.
Happy Easter everyone.