I died on Sunday

Well, no, I didn't actually die. I wanted to, though. I was awakened by my stomach at five unGodly fifteen o'clock in the morning, and between trips to the bathroom, I slept. Ish.

I was scheduled to work at the pet supply store. I sent a text message to my boss to give her a heads-up. Via text, we agreed that I should attempt to come in an hour or two late for my scheduled shift, if I was up for it.

By the time that hour or two had passed and was rearing its ugly head for me to make a decision, I'd been in the bathroom two or three more times and slept some more. When I was awake enough to make a decision, it looked like she'd already made arrangements to cover my shift. #YaySickTime

In my opinion, there are two types of people in this world: those who call out of work when sick, and those who go in despite the distinct possibility that they'll infect everyone they encounter. I am pretty securely ensconced in the former camp. Granted, I will do everything in my power to be well enough to go in, but if that ain't happening, I'ma Stay My Ass At Home.

Yes, I had a lot of physical discomfort. Not that there was anything in my system, but whatever was there wanted out, via mouthhole or butthole. Once or twice, it wanted out via both simultaneously. *Plan ahead, kids. You don't want to vomit or shit on your bathroom rug. You want an appropriate receptacle to purge into, if this happens to you.* When that happened, I spewed into my hand a couple of times before I was able to unleash the fury of my upper GI tract into the toilet. I was miserable.

Once I'd been released from my work obligation, I was able to sleep in longer stretches, and get up in short bursts to attempt to be vertical. I was unsuccessful in my verticality on Sunday. I'd make it as far as the bathroom floor or the toilet, or maybe out to the kitchen to brew some hot mint tea (which didn't stay down) or mix up some electrolytes in water (which did, thankfully), or maybe as far as the couch (on which I balled up, because it was all I could do). My non-Fitbit thingy recorded a lot of naps and very few steps.

I did not go online at all. I played Sudoku and did jigsaw puzzles on my phone, while my phone had any charge. I plugged the phone in and slept when it didn't. I called Daddy. He tried to instruct me on what to eat to feel better, and he also indicated that there's a major flu epidemic raging through SoCal. I don't think I had the flu. I dunno what I had, besides extreme GI distress and a low-grade fever. And chills. And dizziness. And boredom.

My Sunday sucked, y'all. But I felt significantly better after sleeping through the night, after Stephen brought me chicken soup and saltines from Denny's, after I finally took some ibuprofen for my headache/fever. Yeah, I had a headache, too. Probably because I didn't take anything to bring down my fever and also starvation, mayhaps.

Monday I was back to my standard difficulty breathing, because the weather changed on us but good. Rained all day yesterday. Rained most of today. I sure hope it's not raining when Stephen has to come home from work. For the most part, I seem to be back to myself. I'm not dead yet.

I think I'll go for a walk. I feel happy! I feel ... happy!