And a Pestilence Rained Down Upon the Land
My schedule yesterday:
7:30am: Arise. Pull on yesterday’s jeans. Subdue bed-head hair in a ponytail.
7:45am: Eat bowl of cereal.
8am: Leave for grocery store in the hopes of arriving before the thundering hordes of Sunday shoppers.
9am: Return from grocery store. Unload groceries.
9:15am: Plan day. Mentally schedule a run for later in the afternoon.
9:20am: Notice a slight queasy feeling in stomach.
9:30am: Listen to stomach rumble. Hear husband point out that I look a little pale.
10am to 12pm: Barf up every molecule of food that I’ve swallowed in the last six months. Lie on bathroom floor and feel the delightful coolness of the floor tiles. Receive attentive and adoring, yet ineffective, ministering of devoted husband. Sweat. Shiver. Pray for own death.
12:05pm: Cancel previously scheduled run.
12:10pm: Swallow anti-nausea medication and Gatorade provided by aforementioned devoted husband.
12:15pm: Puke up aforementioned anti-nausea medication and Gatorade.
12:20pm: Consider writing letter to Santa Claus, asking for own death, since the Almighty isn’t coming through for me.
12:30pm to 6pm: Lie on couch, sip Gatorade, and watch 7 TiVo’d episodes of the 2005 season of Project Runway.
6pm: Shower.
6:20pm: Return to couch. Try not to take offense as husband seals TiVo remote in Ziploc bag so he can use it without touching it and possibly infecting himself with the plague.
6:30pm: Demand that devoted husband provide chocolate milkshake.
6:35pm: Allow devoted husband to talk me out of milkshake idea.
6:40pm: Resign self to drinking more Gatorade, which has become extremely unappealing.
6:45pm to 10pm: Lie on couch. Watch backlog of TiVo’d Daily Shows and Colbert Reports with devoted husband. Sip more Gatorade. Doze.
10pm: Retire for the evening.
7:30am: Arise. Pull on yesterday’s jeans. Subdue bed-head hair in a ponytail.
7:45am: Eat bowl of cereal.
8am: Leave for grocery store in the hopes of arriving before the thundering hordes of Sunday shoppers.
9am: Return from grocery store. Unload groceries.
9:15am: Plan day. Mentally schedule a run for later in the afternoon.
9:20am: Notice a slight queasy feeling in stomach.
9:30am: Listen to stomach rumble. Hear husband point out that I look a little pale.
10am to 12pm: Barf up every molecule of food that I’ve swallowed in the last six months. Lie on bathroom floor and feel the delightful coolness of the floor tiles. Receive attentive and adoring, yet ineffective, ministering of devoted husband. Sweat. Shiver. Pray for own death.
12:05pm: Cancel previously scheduled run.
12:10pm: Swallow anti-nausea medication and Gatorade provided by aforementioned devoted husband.
12:15pm: Puke up aforementioned anti-nausea medication and Gatorade.
12:20pm: Consider writing letter to Santa Claus, asking for own death, since the Almighty isn’t coming through for me.
12:30pm to 6pm: Lie on couch, sip Gatorade, and watch 7 TiVo’d episodes of the 2005 season of Project Runway.
6pm: Shower.
6:20pm: Return to couch. Try not to take offense as husband seals TiVo remote in Ziploc bag so he can use it without touching it and possibly infecting himself with the plague.
6:30pm: Demand that devoted husband provide chocolate milkshake.
6:35pm: Allow devoted husband to talk me out of milkshake idea.
6:40pm: Resign self to drinking more Gatorade, which has become extremely unappealing.
6:45pm to 10pm: Lie on couch. Watch backlog of TiVo’d Daily Shows and Colbert Reports with devoted husband. Sip more Gatorade. Doze.
10pm: Retire for the evening.
posted by Jill at 9:04 AM
10 Comments:
10am to 12pm: Barf up every molecule of food that I’ve swallowed in the last six months.
Not the Godiva chocolate too?!?!?
Poor Jill! I am soooo sorry that you are sick. Try chicken soup with toast. If you can't keep it down, it's easy on the throat when it comes back up. :( Hope you are feeling better today!
The remote in the ziploc bag- priceless! Had to laugh at that one!
that's AWFUL. that's more awful than than skinny jeans. even more awful than britney spears' shaved head.
Slag is a clever fellow- I'd never have come up with the ziplock bag for the remote, although, shouldn't he have wrapped it up for your use?
I also like the Santa Claus appeal.
I am so pleased you awoke to be able to post about this... its a goooood day! Hope you are feeling whole again baby gurlie!
The hubby was quite right to forbid the milkshake. Semi-used milk is the worst kind of vomitus. No that's all wrong; warm semi-used milk that's had time to curdle with the bile is the worst kind of vomitus.
I'm not helping, am I?
Vomiting Disease ran its course through our house at Christmas (husband) and New Year (children). I'm sorry you've got it; it's rotten. I hope it doesn't last too long. Mine were sick for a couple of days but then pretty wiped out for about a week afterwards. Take it easy.
Oh Jill, I do hope you are feeling better. And forgive me for giggling about the remote control and the letter to Santa. I'm sure your sickness was not funny to you! :)
Hope you are feeling better in time for your trip!
Take care.
jazz, Yes, it's true. I'm pretty sure I lost the chocolate. But don't worry, godiva.com is having their after-Valentine's Day sale now.
schmoopie, Thanks! I am feeling better. Just hope Slag doesn't come down with it.
kara, I think it's a dead heat with the shaved head. At first I thought she was going for a movie role, something like "GI Jane" or "V is for Vendetta," but no, she's just bat-shit crazy.
stucco, Wrapping up the remote for me would have been more efficiant, but I had already contaminated it by the time he considered the danger. Slag gave all the remotes in the house a good bath with alcohol and they are now Ziploc-free. (Sometimes he's a little pickier than I am.)
cheesy, Thanks, I'm up and walking around now. It sucked.
sam, You're not helping! I don't need the thought of barfing up chocolate cottage cheese while I'm trying to recover. Yep, everybody seems to be getting it. I'm praying Slag doesn't. He hates throwing up. A lot.
em, Actually, I knew I was getting better Sunday night when I started spontaneously thinking of ways that the whole event was funny.
joy and dean, I think I'll be fully recovered by Friday in time for the trip. Thanks!
Hey! I posted a note of condolence TWO days ago, and it's not here....I keep screwing up the comment thing, garrr.
What I wrote was something to the effect of: Oh Constant Whiner. Even when you're sick, you make me laugh.
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