I wrote the following two paragraphs last Thursday and it was far too boring to put up as an independent rambler so I'm putting them in this entry. Why, do you ask, am I putting them in at all? Because, goddamnit, I want to.
I really really think I need to start carrying a notebook around and making notes when I think of topics to write about on here because I swear, I had so much to write about. I sat down five minutes ago and pulled up this page and now I'm sitting here, staring at it with no clue what to write.
I'm currently staring at this huge wall map of Asia in front of me and listening to this 30 year old dicknose trying to impress some freshman with purple hair, a fur coat and orange boots who used the excuse, "I just remembered my class isn't til 2pm!" to come back and flirt with him. It is a sickeningly amusing display. I am a lot of things but I can be thankful I'm not like that.
Well this weekend has been interesting to say the least. I finally was able to start working out again after paying my final $77. So that was fun. And Sunday...well Sunday, my only plans were to sleep in forever, go to the gym and then watch the end of the superbowl. The superbowl part didn't actually get tacked on to my day until I read an email from my mom talking about their plans for the superbowl. You know the drill..."That thing was tonight?"
Unfortunately, things turned out a little differently. My roommate Erin came home about an hour and a half before kickoff and convinced me to not only (a) skip going to the gym but to (b) get drunk, thusly subject my body to lipogenesis (a word I learned from Linda last year, meaning fat calories gained from alcohol). So Erin and Dana, Kristen's sister, went and got the fucking Economy size bottle of vodka and a bottle of Captain Morgan's Parrot Bay. Aye aye sir. So while Erin was drinking her coconut rum and Dr. Pepper, I indulged in a giant glass of vodka and orange juice, after which I was tipsy. But did I stop there? Noooo. I had another huge glass and a half. At halftime, Erin and I took a walk and smoked cloves. For the next hour or so, I stumbled over pretty much everything in our apartment and walked into a few walls. At around 6pm, I decided it was time to call Joci. I have no idea what I said to her, but apparently the recurring theme was her telling me to sit up and I wouldn't. After we talked, I passed out for about 45 minutes. When I woke up, I was terribly thirsty, but other than that, felt okay. I did my homework and gave this girl, who incidentally is gorgeous, Cheryl, a back massage. Sometime during the massage I started feeling queasy. I laid down at 11:30pm and at 12:30am, I decided I would probably get sick pretty soon. The rest of the night went something like this:
12:35-->Gather my comforter and pillow and go out to the living room and put in "My best friend's wedding"
12:35 til 2am-->Constantly shift positions, all the while taking sips of warm coke. Feeling sick the whole time, but not the kind of sick where you know you're ready to vomit.
2am-->Decide I should vomit now, but that I shouldn't expose my roommates to the vocal stylings of my vomit. I put on tennis shoes and grab my keys and go for a walk.
2am-2:45am-->Wander around outside in sweatpants and a t-shirt, feeling sick but not getting sick. I tell you at this point, I would have been so grateful to just throw up. But no, it didn't happen.
2:45am-->Curl up in my blanket on the couch and try to get some feeling in my arms and face which are by this time, completely numb. I watch the end of the movie and pray to either get sick or fall asleep.
3:15am-->Turn off the TV and FINALLY fall asleep for an hour.
4:15am-->Finally fall asleep for real until 11:30am.
So you think it's over? No. I decide I should eat toast or something. I have some toast around noon and at about 1:30, half a bowl of macaroni and cheese. For the next 3 and a half hours, I lay in bed like an invalid, taking small sips of coke and praying, once again, to either throw up or fall asleep. Neither happens, but finally around 5pm, the pukey feeling subsides.
Although the above might not sound bad, 3 hours of waiting to throw up with this absolutely sickening feeling in your stomach is just...ICKY. And that's all there is to it.
Since then, I've had a bowl of chicken noodle soup and about 3 cokes. I also showered and did my laundry, and I feel significantly better but not enough to like, run a marathon or eat actual solid foods. But I am sitting up and that's a start.
Things tonight have been good...Melissa and I are speaking again, which really made my night, I have to say. So yeah, things are looking up. I'm feeling well and Erin's running around with brownie mix all over her face pretending she's Olivia Newton-John. Why do I always have to play the guy? Dammit.
East siders: peep this