I didn’t make it to my personal training session on Wednesday. I’d spent the night before with a throwing up bug, which won over my throwing up phobia at least six times.
At about 4 in the morning, I thought it’d be a stellar idea to sleep in the bathroom. Instead, I went back to bed and spooned with Freddy The Fuck It Bucket. Named after what I yelled out right before I spewed into it. It gave me some control back. Or something.
I’ve spent the last two days sipping energy drinks on the couch, not watching Dexter or anything to do with food.
And now, the stomach bug has moved up into my face. So yeah, it’s been an interesting week here at Casa Penguino.
And Sarge has been wonderful throughout the whole thing. Take last night for example.
At about 3 o’clock, I was sitting up in bed attempting to dislodge some snot and I had misplaced my tissues. I might have nudged/pulled at Sarge’s beard, saying only, ’tissues, now, where?’ He found them half-way down the bed and might have thrown them at my face. I didn’t understand that he wanted to go back to sleep, I thought he wanted to stay up with me singing ‘Thank You For Being A Friend‘. In a round. At 3 in the morning. The cold was making me delirious. And nostalgic. Apparently. Happy belated birthday, Betty White.
Today, I’m feeling slightly better. Although I don’t know if these dispatches from the couch make any sense. Well, I know what I’m saying. Maybe.
I missed a call from my Dad because I fell asleep in the middle of the afternoon. When I called him back, I tried to explain that I actually felt better than I might sound. ‘Well that’s good,’ he said, ‘because you sound pretty bad.’
I’ve used this new-found burst of energy to dance around my living room, while waiting for medicinal Indian food. I think I’m going to need more tissues. But hopefully not Freddy The Fuck It Bucket.
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