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February 02, 2006

In which our heroine learns of the diuretic and dysphoric properties of coconut soup.

Late last week, assailed by a craving for coconut milk and lemongrassy deliciousness, I made, for the billionth time since she posted it, my baby sister's amazing Thai coconut soup. It is wonderful. It also yields about three gallons of soup, which means, because I seem to automatically increase every recipe I make on the mistaken belief that I am cooking for a small army rather than just for me, that it makes about five gallons of soup a la Katie. That is a lot of coconut soup.

Soup is largely, you will recall, liquid. I live on a steady diet of coffee, which is also a liquid. I have the smallest bladder in the world. You see where this is going.

A few nights ago, in a fervent attempt to finish the goddamned soup and free up some room in the fridge, I consumed all of the soup I had left, and then headed out to the pub to get some reading done, where I commenced adding several pints of beer to the several pints of coconut broth already in me.

Approximate timetable of results:
9:00ish: Finished soup. Peed.
9:15: Put on coat. Peed.
9:25: Left house. Locked door. Unlocked door. Went back in. Peed.
9:45: Arrived at pub. Peed. Ordered beer. Read.
10:00-1:45: Drank beer, read, peed, read, peed, drank another beer, peed, read, peed, read, beer, peed.
2:00: Arrived home. Peed. Readied for bed.
2:20: Got out of bed, peed.
2:42: Got out of bed, peed.
3:50: Woke up, got out of bed, peed.
6:00: Woke up, got out of bed, peed.
9:30-10:05: Slept through the first 35 minutes of the class I'm TAing.

Spent a very tired day trying to get on track. Went out, finished reading for my TAship, did my lesson plan, and got a major bit of reading done for my seminar on Friday. Met a really cute mildly drunk girl at the pub who had recently finished her undergrad degree in my department, and who, since she took several classes with my advisor, was quite familiar with the book I was reading and very into reminiscing about the university and the classes she took that I TA'd for. I was smooth. As the Beastie Boys would have it:

Met a girl at a party and she started to flirt
I told her some rhymes and she pulled up her skirt.

Or, back here in the real world, we talked for awhile, hug hug, and then she left with the guy I think might have been her boyfriend.

Got home around 1:30 and went to bed, whereupon I immediately commenced Katie's Short-Short Film Festival of 30-second nightmares. All night. It would go like this: Fall asleep. Cue very short film reel in which I am driving on the road to the west entrance of campus, only the car won't stop accelerating and all of a sudden I'm at the twisty part full of hairpin turns on the way to Bonny Doon and I'm going 140 MPH and I can't slow down. Wake up. Calm down. Get back to sleep. Cue 30-second clip in which I'm lying down in a room and there's sort of a sheet on me and people are standing around by my feet and all of a sudden I realize I'm having my leg amputated and they have no idea that the anesthetic has just worn off. Wake up. Calm down. Get back to sleep.

Finally fell asleep for real around 5 AM and had an extended dream, in which it was later that afternoon and instead of having my one real department meeting to go to, I had three department meetings back to back. At the first one, I attempted to do or say something in a nice, protective way on behalf of another grad student, but it came out in a way that sounded as though I had just walked into a room full of faculty I work closely with and said something terrible, mean, petty, and patently untrue to undermine one of my colleagues. And the faculty all saw right through it and, no matter what I said to try to clarify or fix it, they became increasingly disgusted, and one of my committee members drove off in his car before I could talk to him about my exams, and at the next meeting they made me sit in another part of the room at a conference table that was actually full of people from Texas at a corporate training event, and none of the professors would talk to me. Woke up, took a few seconds to realize that I was awake, and then started crying. That was weird.

I was disinclined to go back to sleep after that, so I just fucking got up. Had a 12-hour campus day (with intermissions), in the middle of which, outside the real department meeting (which was fine), I ran into a friend who's in my Friday seminar. Asked her what she thinks of the Chesnutt novel we're reading (the one I'd just spent several days reading, and about which I had a lovely but fruitless convo at the pub the night before). My friend looked puzzled.

"I don't know," she said. "I haven't started it yet. Aren't we reading that next week?"

"Um, hellooo?" I said. "You might want to get reading, lame-o."

Went home and looked at the syllabus again. She's right, of course: I've been reading entirely the wrong book. I think I'm overtired. But there won't be any nightmares tonight, because instead of sleeping I get to plow through Puddn'head Wilson at the last minute. Maybe I'll drink a lot of liquids, just to make sure I can't fall asleep.

Posted by katie at 12:04 PM