Most of my Thursday night was spent in the bathroom, waiting to throw up. Very little of this time actually involved vomiting. Of course the anticipation of vomiting is much worse than the act itself, so this may have been my least favorite bout of stomach flu. (This was #3 for me.) I apologize if you didn't wanna hear about that. My Friday was queasy and head-swimmingly unpleasant. The TV was too cacophonous and my book wasn't distracting enough. Today was much better. The TV was fine and I went to McDonald's for dinner as my first meal since Thursday. Since then I'd been subsisting solely on 7Up. (You know, it's 100% natural now!) That's one of the liquids my parents would give me when I had a tummy ache, although they'd give it to me flat. (FYI, the other liquid was mint tea.)
What made this illness especially sucky was the way it brought up questions about the direction of my life and my emotional well-being. What is it about puking your guts out that makes you question your place in the universe? God didn't give me the stomach flu. Duane did, as I just found out this evening while talking to him (talking to Duane, that is, not God).
Now I'm gonna hit the sack. The last Arrested Development of the night just ended on G4, the usual cue that my Saturday nite is over. Catch ya on the flipside!