I was starting to feel better. About everything. I really was. All of my pain and anguish was starting to transform into those beautiful feelings of lividity and rage. Emotions that, for me, can fuel a lot of productivity. I was zippidy-do-dah-ing along, thinking I had life licked. For once. But then life? Was like
I spent the entirety of my daughter’s birthday party last night alternating between projectile vomiting and being fetal in a chair next to the fire, quaking and dry heaving. 100mg of Dimenhydrinate produced only an effect of being really fucking tired, and did nothing to quell the tsunamis of nausea. Then life was like “you’re handling this a little too well”.
So life put me here:
It’s been about 18 hours since the onset of this horrendous bug, and I’ve lost nine pounds. Half a pound an hour! I’ll feel a little less guilty about neglecting the stairmill for the past few weeks. Sure, my esophagus is raw, my teeth will be falling out, and my ass burns, but hey, I’m skinny!
After sleeping through my 8 am class, with much trepidation, I dragged myself to my 1:30 class where I spent the entire two hours in extreme discomfort and trying to pry my eyes open. I’ve never felt so exhausted. My guts hurt from retching and every muscle in my body aches from the nonstop shivers.
I tried to have a bit of tomyum for lunch…
Alrighty then. Clear fluids. Gotcha.
Sorry I Ruined Your Sheets, And Other Stories 
Why you go to class? You make everyone else sick! You go home and eat soup.
I had an exam to write. If I didn’t write the exam, I didn’t meet the prereq’s for the classes I’m in this term and I’d get booted.