Yurph.

Well, I'm posting this kinda early today for a couple of reasons. One... the review is getting pushed to tomorrow as I in the midst of being very very completely sick and the thought of concentrating my thoughts and writing abilities on a food substance is not... a wise idea. The second reason? Basically, I'm burning time as the dimension door that has opened up in my lower intestine is determining whether or not it is going to make the trip back home to order more soul destroying bile to dump on me. Not quite at the point where I feel safe trying to go back to sleep, but hopeful that simple physics are on my side at last. As of right now, I do believe my brain has dried out (there is a weird rattling sound when I blow my nose, leading me to believe it has shriveled) and last time I looked down my toe nails have visibly retracted into my body. I've eaten twice in three days... there can't possibly be anything left to exit.

Right?

(Whimper)

I'm actually pretty fortunate really. The whole concept of a 24 or 48 hour flu is foreign to me. I usually get the 3 or 4 hour bullet train through the rougher side of hell as my body powers through whatever is preying upon it, then its a day or so of being weaker then a newborn kitten. No all day ordeals of hoping to die as you get wracked by a few million germs. Heck, I'm even pretty self-sufficient when I get sick. Enough warning is given to set up the trashcan next to the bed (with liner), insure there is a plentiful amount of toilet paper in the bathroom, and to place my order for coke to wait outside the door. The laptop gets shoved somewhere safe and a bottle of fizzy water waits patiently on the window sill next to the bed. I don't want checked on, I hate being fussed over (it usually just makes the headache worse), and I even have time to make sure my hair is tied back for minimum ick factor in the cleanup after.

These... are all very good things. For something else I have learned this night. The Prime Geek, while he loves me... is not a great nurse. Sympathy puking and a firm “If you love me, don't ever ask me to throw that away again.” when handed a sealed trash liner holding what appeared to be my 4th grade lunch.

The next time I get sick, I'm sure he'll handle it better.

Actually, I'm sure he'll hire someone nice to handle it better while he waits it out in a hotel room.


Blargh.