I haven't been feeling well the past two nights...to the point that I have called sick to work last night and tonight as well. It's one thing to call in for a social life, it's something entirely different when that social life consists of just you and the toilet.
One of the day coordinators tried to make me feel guilty by saying the floor was left short because I called in. I would gladly trade in going to work and dealing with the drama that goes on there, instead of praying to the Porcelain God. Whatever. It wasn't even a good guilt trip anyway.
I hate to think this is directly related to what I consumed at the Home Show. I really hate to directly relate it to the Mexican dinner I had following (because this restaurant is one of the better places for a good chimichanga). The Mexican food probably was the guilty party, but not because it was bad...but for the simple fact that my GI system and spicy foods are no longer on speaking terms, and haven't been for a couple years now.
At any rate, after two days of homesteading on the Toilet I Loathe, my chocolate starfish feels like someone poked at it with a firebrand. It hurts to sit on something that is not shaped like a donut. I was skeptical to eat or drink anything because I knew I would see it in minutes, out of some orifice or another. On top of the Angry Anus, I also have bad reflux...which culminated this morning in one symbiotic act of me choking on stomach acid...
All over my 800 thread count sheets.
My last set of clean sheets, I might add.
Miserable, sore and crabby as hell, I had to go out today and wash all my sheets so I could have something to sleep in. The scowling redhead at the apartment laundrymat...that was me. On a brighter note, everything washed out without a stain.
While I was out, I did manage to stop by the nearest store and buy out their supply of Imodium. I have consumed so much of that stuff, I shouldn't have active bowel sounds until Cinco de Mayo.
Paul called, and I tried to guilt him into coming over and taking care of me (because friends are supposed to be all concerned and helpful). Mom migrated home for the weekend. Apparently, my guilt trips also suck because he wouldn't bite. He had other plans to go off with nonsick friends and get some culture...in the form of some symphony. I told him that I had been composing symphonies all day in the bathroom, but he still wasn't interested. There would be cheesecake involved in the other outing.
All I have is Velveeta cheese in the fridge and not a nacho in site.
I'm a nurse, and I rush to take care of sick people. When I am sick, people flock away in droves. What's the deal with that??