November 21, 2008
Originally published December 22, 2005
I have been in a bad way.
I finally went to sleep last night some time after midnight. I had been awake for more than 40 straight hours. Around 4:00 this morning, I sprang from my bed to begin an intimate courtship with my bathroom commode. I hugged it, squeezed it and shared a great deal of my bodily fluids with it. This romance continued on and off for about 12 hours.
I was one sick puppy.
I probably had a case of food poisoning from eating my own cooking from my own filthy kitchen. That's my best guess, because I was launching projectile discharge from both ends and hurting from head to toe. A couple of times, I didn't even bother to leave the bathroom between attacks. I just curled up in a fetal position on the floor and waited for the next wave of diarrhea and nausea.
I managed a few hours of fitful sleep this afternoon. I finally woke up feeling as if I had a goddam hangover after more than 60 days without drinking any alcohol. (I missed my AA meeting in Statesboro tonight--- my fellow inmates probably believe that I went off somewhere on a drunk.) I still don't feel right, but I'm better than I was.
As the post in the link above suggests, bloggers sometimes write when they're too sick to do anything else. I'm drinking chicken broth from a coffee cup held in trembling hands right now, but I can manage to type. It takes my mind off my misery.
I DO have one horrible thought crawling around in my mind. I took my first soaking in my hot tub last night. The water was 104 degrees and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I drank apple juice on ice and read a Stephen King book (The Regulators) for about an hour. When I got out of the tub, I was so relaxed that my legs wobbled when I walked. I got sick just a few hours later.
You don't suppose I'm allergic to my hot tub, do you?
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