Masterminx

I don't know if flavor-enhancing chemicals are to blame, but I had to use the Teen Girl Squad reference.

I would not wish the pain I experienced last night on anyone. At least, not on anyone I like. It took all exaggeration out of the word excruciating. As a result, I didn't get to sleep until some time around 2:00.

I tried to curl myself into some sort of fetal-like position. This is not an easy thing to do when you share a bed, so I wasn't terribly successful. I felt intense pressure and pain over the entire area between my diaphragm and my hips. I was nauseated and dizzy, as well. I was pondering possible escape routes for the alien entity that was about to burst out of my chest when Wes began to snore.

All hope of sleeping was gone, at that point. I got up and read a few articles on Something Awful, all the while holding my gut and fighting back pitiful tears. Every movement I made angered the thing in my belly, which resulted in stabbing pain in ten different places at once.

I finally gave up and crawled into bed, attempting the semi-fetal position again for another 15 minutes. Wes was snoring right into my ear, so I tried plugging his nose. I don't know who came up with that little trick, but it doesn't work. I wasn't angry or frustrated about it. I actually giggled a bit. With us, it's a race to sleep because both of us snore viciously. He won last night.

I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, trying to figure out when I might have ingested alien egg spores, and kneading my gut in a desperate attempt to subdue the creature. We had dinner at Lone Star; I had chicken and steamed vegetables. Can't really go wrong, there. Of course, the chicken was spritzed with seasoning salt, which I am sure contained MSG. Could have been that.

It could have to do with the fact that Wes got sort of snappy with me in the car, talking about finances. I guess the honeymoon is over. It's time for me to get involved in worrying about money. The dread of that caused me to get a little teary-eyed. If I had a fucking job, this would never have come up.

We spent a lot of the evening discussing job possibilities for me. Wes's brother tried to help, and that was nice. I feel like I am going to have to take a huge step backward in my career path very soon. So, I'm sure that didn't help, either.

Taking a job as a receptionist after what I have accomplished would be easier to swallow if I suffered some sort of debilitating head injury.

I finally got up and ate a Pepcid. I returned to the bed and collapsed, face down, in the arms of sweet, sweet exhaustion.

I still feel like crap-ola. Wes was shaking the bed this morning to wake me, which did nothing to aid me in my effort to not vomit. I doubt he was at all aware of how I felt, having slept through the worst of it. He woke up with a horrible headache, so he was distracted by that.

I feel bad for him. I feel bad, period.

Things are getting better, gradually, but I could use some sleep. I have a tummy full of breakfast rice--Japanase folks would cringe at the combination of butter, sugar, and a touch of milk--and the warmth is lulling me. Too bad I have errands to run. Maybe naptime comes afterward.

I had a friend named Paula, a few years ago. We were once discussing what it would be like to be able to wish an illness on your enemies. I was thinking along the lines of eye-bleeding radioactive ebola. She said, if she could, she would wish horrible gas pain on her enemies. At the time, I laughed at the tame affliction she chose.

I'm not laughing, any more.

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