Can I just feel good for maybe seven whole days in a row? Seriously? Check it:
Last weekend (not yesterday, the weekend before) I had a really good, busy Saturday. I helped with a yard sale, went out to lunch, got shit done, had a fun day. Then I trotted home and spent two hours making a really complicated stew that involved two different kinds of booze, one of which I got to light on fire (or, rather, Kenny got to light on fire because I'm a freaking wuss.) Dinner was nice, we ate, we watched a movie, we had dessert and then I suddenly got that doomsday belly feeling, the one like I had last November when I got puking sick. I ignored it lalala and dragged myself into bed in the hopes that I could somehow "sleep off" the impending doom. HA HA. NOPE.
I spend some quality time with the bathroom floor that night and had a few moments where I remember sincerely wishing to be struck dead because death would be preferable to feeling like the contents of my body were being removed with a giant melon baller. I don't even know, that's just how it felt. BAD. The badness finally tapered off around 8am on Sunday morning and I spent the rest of the day wan and listless, sucking on ice chips and unable to leave my bed. It was 80 degrees and sparklingly sunny out, naturally. Man, it still pisses me off.
(Oh, and that stew? The one that took two hours to make? I cannot even look at it. I cannot think about it, I cannot smell it. It's now in the freezer and Kenny is going to have to eat it because I can't. Ever. Never. Nope.)
I felt fine by Monday night and when this past weekend rolled around I was determined to make up for lost time. Woo. Saturday was again, a fun day. Went to the gym, out to lunch, ran errands, hung out with Kate. Good times. Saturday night I learned my lesson and made a simple dinner. All was good. Sunday I woke up feeling just dandy and we joined our friends for a mountain bike ride which ended up being about an hour longer than normal. We rode all of it and I have the scars to prove it. I was completely exhausted when we got home and my allergies were kicking in too, thanks to all that damn fresh air. My allergies got worse and worse and the Claritin was not helping. I finally just took Benedryl to stop the sneezing and went to bed. So much for Sunday.
I woke up this morning feeling like a zombie and I'm still sneezing and now I have a headache. I swear to freaking God if what I have is actually a cold SOMEONE IS GOING TO PAY.
OH. And since I know at least one of you is thinking it, I ain't pregnant. This did not stop some woman who works in the University dining room (who I don't even know) from looking me up and down last week and saying, apropos to nothing, "SO, you're having a baby??"
And then I burst into flames. The end.