You think that'd be tiring enough, but it turns out something I ate/ingested/alien pod I breathed in decided to add insult to injury and I spent all Saturday night (no, really) throwing up things that my neighbors might have eaten. I mean, after a few minutes, I had nothing left to offer the porcelain gods, but they weren't appeased, the bastards. From 11pm until 5 am, every hour on the hour. I spent all day yesterday trying to just keep water down and to try and sleep. Finally, at 3am this morning, I chugged a half liter of Gatorade, took three aspirins (my head was pounding) and willed my body to keep it down. And woke up at 10 this morning, weak as kittens and five pounds lighter.
Bleurgh. Today is all about dry toast, liquid, and maybe sitting in the sun to try and feel human again. I have no idea what could have caused this, the only thing I ate that was different from everyone else was a glass of wine. SURELY IT WASN'T THE WINE???? It would never betray me, would it?! (For the record, it was a funky ass bottle of Coppola's weird experiment wine [Alicante Bouchet, 2007], that someone gave me because I can't stand Coppola's wine, ergo, I didn't buy it for myself.)
The Mr. stayed home today to make sure I was back on track. And to do laundry (shh, he doesn't know that, yet.) So if I've not responded to your comment, email, phone call, etc., that's why. I didn't want you to hear "Hi-oooooooark!" Because that's disgusting.
Send melba toasts, pls. (Oh, and I wanted to wish those who celebrate a Happy Passover!)