You know how you have those moments, and by moments I mean hours, where you feel like one wrong move and you’re going to vomit? Yeah. It happened to me last night.
The Hubster woke me up yesterday morning, well before my wake up time. So needless to say, I was very fatigued by the time daycare ended. I took a two-hour nap in the evening and woke up to the worst feeling in the world. The cycle continued when I skipped dinner for fear of vomit. This can backfire though. As a fat kid, skipping a meal is tantamount to torture.
The lack of food made me feel like vomiting even more than the fatigue did, but by then I was too freaked out to eat for fear my nightmare would become reality.
I ended up going to bed and praying for death after a failed attempt to eat a late night snack. I microwaved it, I dished it up, and then I threw it out. Because I felt like it was going to end badly.
This morning I awoke to an even stronger feeling of desperation. Something was going to happen. I could feel it. Between the lack of food, the lack of sleep, and God’s sick sense of humor, I knew I was doomed.
So I downed a shit ton of Pepto Bismol and snacked on water and crackers. And I prayed really hard that someone would shank me and put me out of my misery.
And the belly raged on.
I was completely beside myself. If I eat, I may vomit. If I don’t eat, I may die.
This seems pretty lose-lose to me.
And then I found the silver lining you are supposed to look for; at least we know definitively that I am not bulimic.
And that I could never work in a job that would require a loss of sleep or a skipped meal.
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