Sunday, November 19, 2006

Day 91

My lips resemble those of an avalanche victim. I am also trying to recover from a mouthful of tuna that I ate around 3pm this afternoon. It was the only thing I wanted to eat. No, I didn't want the dry toast EVERYBODY told me to eat. I wanted tuna. Now my stomach is laughing at me. Mwaa ha ha ha. (That was my stomach.) At least I can pick off my lips and nibble on the skin to sustain me until I can eat again.

I have prepared a luke warm bath, am back to drinking cold, milky, tea with a spoonfull of sugar (seriously) and am fully prepared for Mary Poppins to arrive any minute.

I had to wash all the bedsheets today. I was going to wash them anyway, as one must always wash contaminated bed sheets after a contamination, but as my sheets also met with the afore mentioned milky tea, their journey to the washing machine was quicker than usual. During one of my more recent experiments with the philosophical concept of causality, I placed a half filled cup of cold, milky tea on the matress beside my head, knowing full well that this was a very foolish thing to do, also knowing the inevitably of what would happen if I did leave it there. So, I left it there, ("Your honour, in my defense, I was so weak after vomiting my guts up...") and forgot all about it until watching my 20th episode of Gilmour Girls, back in bed ten minutes later. First thing I noticed was my wet behind. Not a good moment for someone getting over food poisoning. Anyway, moving on...

I have also lost lots of weight which is super. I am never going to eat again. Yes, even though I cannot eat, barely stand or wash, I can step on the scales every five minutes. (Just to make sure that I'm not dreaming.) C'mon I haven't been this skinny since September 2005.

I am also very proud of myself that I have survived this trauma single handedly. (Please note, that I am utterly phobic of vomiting, so much so that I have not done so since 1999. I am also horrible at being ill, both on my own and in company, but for the record, I was completely on my own. No-one to hold my hair out my face while yakking my guts up, (not that I have any - hair), no one to clean the newly spray painted bathroom after my (many) visits. No chicken soup or help getting into clean PJ' nothing. My mum even refused to send the dog down with a bottle of brandy round her neck.)

The highlight of my last few days was probably going to the local Spar yesterday, for a giant bottle of full fat coke, lucozade and the paper with both my nightie and puked on socks, on. Being single/on your own, while being ill, sucks (man) big time, but at least one know's, one can survive when one has to.


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