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The Reckoning

This morning was my second-to-last neighborhood association meeting as vice-chair. Two years of meetings. Two years of budget meetings and organizing events and MCing this and that. Two years of making sure our monthly newsletter was not just informative but something people actually wanted to read. And I’ll say it... our newsletter has been the best it’s ever been under my watch. Yes I toot my own horn today. Surrounding neighborhood associations have looked on with envy. I just hope whoever takes over for me knows how to use Canva.

After my meetings, Eri suggested we go out for lunch. I was of course on board. I suggested Steak Palace because I love their salad bar. And once again I made the most of it. A little too much, actually. From the moment we got back in the car, I felt... off. At first, I chalked it up to overeating. A personal best in poor portion control. But this was different. By the time we got home, I was totally useless. I lay down on the couch and hoped a nap would reset my system. It did not.

At 3 PM, the boys and I went to the park to kick the soccer ball around, but I needed way too many breaks. 

When I didn’t even feel like having wine in the evening, I knew something was seriously wrong. I barely made it through bedtime with the boys before heading straight to bed myself.

8 PM. Lights out.

11 PM. The reckoning.

I woke up and knew immediately that there was no stopping what was about to happen. But somehow, by some miracle, I made it. Not a single misfire. The barf bucket I had placed next to me before bed was used to full capacity en route to the bathroom, where I proceeded to expel everything left inside me. It was bad. I shall speak no more of it.

I have no idea what went wrong. A salad bar betrayal. A delayed consequence of two years of neighborhood association stress leaving my body all at once. Who knows. What I do know is that I haven't been that sick at my stomach in a long, long time.

Goodbye, Steak Palace. We had a good run. We might cross paths again one day.

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