A Quichette Postponed

Our NYE party at one point looked bleak, as snow was falling and two parties called in their last minute regrets saying they were sick. And there were quite a few who RSVP'd yes, but never showed. But it made us enjoy the company of those who came all the more.
In the end, we had enough to eat most all of the food and form a few rock bands, to play along with the XBox "Rock Band" game that one guest brought. (2 guitars, one drumset and one microphone for an at-home karoke-like experience.)

Such was the tizzy of keeping a party humming that I did not cook up the mini quiches I had prepped. Until this morning though, when I woke up with the "I may be too old for this" headache and craved some breakfast. With eggs and cheese and a flaky toastiness to it, why can't a quiche be breakfast?
It was tasty, and thanks to Juliet and Ann for the last minute telephone support last night when I realized during my prep work that there was no oven temperature on the recipe (375 was perfect) and no exact measurements for the fillings (that worked out ok too.)

I had to pause and reread again the last paragraph of a NYT article today that discussed the apparently traditional contemplation of the road not taken, the person you could have been, during New Year's. (And the healthfulness of this activity.)

"Widen the screen just a little, in fact, and a particularly prominent and disturbing lost self can be seen as merely one guest in a room full of permutations, good and bad. And each of those selves must have an idealized doppelgänger of its own.

Granted, it may be hard to make the case that one of those is the person capsized on the couch, recovering from last year’s last party. But give it a few days. Ghost-busting is possible, but best done without a hangover."

I probably missed the philosophical meaning of this parting sentence. I was just caught by the apt description of being "capsized on the couch", which is where I stll find myself snuggled in this evening. Half maybe due to headache, half due to childlike grudge towards having to go back to work tomorrow. Blech.