Made a little trip to death's door this weekend. Got home from Thursday Night's meeting, and things just didn't feel right. Went to bed, and at 12:30, I got the first of what would be an entire night's reminders of why things didn't feel right. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the sluices were flowing freely from both ends all night. Now, I don't remember the last time I threw up (I am sure it was alcohol induced at that time), but I now remember why I am not bulimic. I don't know about you, but I don't view the act of vomiting to be a very pleasant one.
Anyway, went ahead and got up Friday to go to work. Hoping against hope it was just something I had eaten. After sitting through a two hour video conference in a daze, the boss told me to either go home or to the morgue...my choice. I felt, and apparently looked, like death warmed over.
I went home and spent the next 36 hours in one of three places...asleep in bed...asleep on the couch...or asleep on the bathroom floor. I kinda preferred the latter, as the tile and porcelain were cool on my forehead.
I emerged from the fog Sunday, and was able to get dressed and actually do a few chores for the wife. That is two weekends in a row with no golf. Starting to piss me off. It's sad when the highlight of your weekend is a grilled chicken sandwich from Whataburger that actually stays where you put it.
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5 comments:
My poor baby.
Who fed the dogs?
sorry to hear about your ordeal ... you are certainly not the first one to get sick after (or during) a Thursday Night meeting ...
try this next time ... ahhh...
Come to think of it, I could have saved a few trees this weekend with a bidet. However, I probably would have had to replace the pump and motor on the well. Don't ever want to visit that land again.
And, by the way Tammy...I fed the damn dogs.
Jeeeeezzz! What the fuck am I doing????? Where the fuck am I going????? Fer Christ's sake....
Ooops, I thought I had logged off...
Sorry.
Ah, sweet pups. You should have had them in the bathroom with you. You would not have had as far to travel to feed them, and they would have lain beside in the bathroom on the cool tile, licking your face in unending loyalty. Actually, they would have drunk from the toilet, lapped up the barf, and then licked you in face with sweet, slimy, barf breath nummy kisses... but at least you they care.
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