I do not like the preaching hangover. I often experienced the hangover after delivering one 45-minute sermon to the morning service in South Africa. Well, if that was difficult, then delivering 3 sermons in one 5 hour period is a recipe for internal meltdown. I went home Sunday afternoon and was a completely worthless blob of crap. My mother-in-law had lunch ready for Stef and me when we walked in the door. Good thing, too. I almost couldn’t open my eyes after Stef thanked God for the food. I was a zombie.
After somehow swallowing two portions of lasagna (the warm pasta and sauce soothing my sore throat), I snagged a nap and woke up only a little more coherent than before. Stef and I had theater tickets, which ended up being a good thing since it basically amounted to us sitting in a dark room together. The content of the show didn’t even matter. We just sort of stared blankly at the stage. I appreciated that I didn’t have to talk.
Monday morning was an entirely different beast. I started out well enough, waking up on time for work and taking a longer than normal shower to try and awaken my senses. I arrived at work when it was still dark out and managed to actually get some work done before the wheels came off.
Sometime around mid-morning, my mind just sort of shut down and my body began aching in strange places. Why was my left triceps hurting? (And who knew that triceps is the singular form of the muscle and triceps is also the plural – weird.) I tried eating (which up until that point did not sound like a good idea) and it didn’t do much more than cause my eyelids to start drooping. I then decided to infuse caffeine into the equation, which was a hopeless endeavor, as my body took to the drug like a hare and my mind was still in tortoise mode. Is that the opposite of what it feels like to be really old – mind has a will the body can’t accomplish?
Eventually, realizing that I was probably stealing company money by sitting in my cubicle and staring at the wall, I decided to head home.
Jeff warned me that I was going to “feel it” the next day. Only after experiencing “it” can I really identify with what he meant. And yet, I can’t wait to do it all over again. (Only next time I’ll be smart enough to take a vacation day the following Monday…)