The scene is Sunday night. My body is weak from eating too much food. I have been to two parties, and two "Christmas" dinners in the last seven days and I am ready to fall asleep and drift off into the wild world of my dreams for some much needed rest before I go to work at 4am. Suddenly, my body declares, "HOW DARE YOU!," in a method much akin to a large cow in a Rocko's Modern Life episode. My stomach folds in half with a pain that I have only been able to communicate as having a migraine in my tummy. It should be common knowledge among my friends and family that I have migraines from time to time. I think my migraines are tied in with my nosebleeds, but that is neither here nor there. When I say migraine, I mean the whole nine yards, sensitivity to light/sound/smell/taste/touch, construction crews building impossibly complex structures in my brainy bits, and the pain, oh the tear-inducing pain. This is what I was feeling. In. My. Stomach.
It was literally right before bed. It was as if my body had specifically plotted to do this immediately prior to falling asleep to rob me of what little rest I could muster. In between moans of agony, and swearing I would never make fun of a woman on her period again, I was busy cursing my body for its bad timing and worse sense of humor. Then my brain turned on. Which, if you know me at all, is a bad thing. I'm the kind of person who goes to WebMD on a weekly basis just to see what diseases he might have. You have to understand, after about three hours of writhing in pain on my bed, incapable of even standing up I was actually worried. I resisted the WebMD urge in favor of traditional remedies that had always worked in the past. I ate some crackers. I drank some warm water. I took a few painkillers. Multiples of the same painkiller, not numerous varieties of pain-killer. All to no avail. Eventually, I threw up.
Let me rephrase that. I say throw-up, and people assume something civil beside the toilet. The kind of throwing up they show in college movies when busty coeds have had too much to drink. It's fairly clean and has a tendency to wipe off leaving a fresh-faced ready-to-fuck tean beauty queen. No. This is not how I throw up. Even instance of sickness is Linda Blair'd. I projectile vomit. It is not pretty. So, I threw up. This did not help matters. In fact it made things worse. Eventually, out of unimaginable pain and exhaustion, I fell asleep three hours before my shift began.
At work, I endured commentary about being on my period when I would double over and lean again the wall for support. Then, the rest of my body started to creak. Not cool scary-movie creaking, but terrifying, I'm-getting-old creaking. The kind of creaking that, on a 26 year-old, says, "HEY UP THERE! SOMETHING IS FUCKED UP DOWN HERE." So, my brain goes to work again, this time trying to rationalize the pain. Did I over-exert myself recently? No. Did I eat some bad shrimp? No. Did I eat some bad anything? No. Have I eaten enough? Yes. Have I recently contracted any fatal diseases? No. Is my appendix about to burst? Maybe. Can you afford to check? No.
So, I get home Monday, and I pour my battered body into bed almost immediately, sleep for five hours then awaken to the sounds of my body, which has now gained sentience, yelling at me loudly to get out of bed and go poop. So, I do as I am told, and I sit there, on the toilet, for twenty minutes. Nothing happens. Oh shut up, everybody poops. It's even a book. Besides, everybody poops, except me. So, I writhe in pain until it's bed time again,
Tuesday, that'd be yesterday, i go to work and the pain have become so severe that my ears are now ringing every time I get a tummy migraine. My arms and legs pretty much can't support my own weight and drinking anything except water is kind of the same as trying to drink alcohol on the day after St. Patrick's, it could work, you're sure of it, but your body won't let you enjoy it. Finally, I beg every woman I can find for pain killers. I get three aspirin a midol and something orange. I downed all that shit, and get back to work. By the end of my shift, I'm pretty sure that the pain is gone, I celebrate until getting out of my chair and away from my desk. I was wrong. It hurts less, but methinks that the primary reason would be the pills.
So, Walmart. Pepto & Aspirin. I take a healthy dose of both, and hope for the best. A trip to WebMD suggests appendix, and I act like I didn't see that, especially since the achy unpleasantness has spread body-wide, and my tummy just seems to hurt the most, and it isn't centralized to the right side of my tumtum. Finally, I place the feeling. It's been a while since I felt it last. My body feels like it's been to the gym recently. I haven't gone to the gym in months, but my body feels like it just got done with a six-hour workout every single moment. Even now, pepto'd and aspirin'd up, I feel exhausted. The coughing, dizziness and blurred vision are starting to make me feel like I'm dying.
So, today, I bought orange juice. I'm almost done with a gallon. Hopefully this will correct my body and fix me. I just wanted to explain why I haven't posted a gleewind or anything in days. It's because sitting at the computer for longer than fifteen or twenty minutes is sorrowful.
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