It was a great party; people came in shifts from six in the evening to well after midnight. People I see every day and people I haven't seen for years. I couldn't have asked for more! I had a huge lunch so my lack of dinner didn't hurt me too much, and I stuck to one alcohol all night, so I didn't cross the streams, so to speak.
At the end of the night I headed home with presents, pictures and happy memories in tow, and flopped on my bed as soon as I got there.
The next morning, though, I woke up and felt like ass. "You had too much wine," I argued, "and not enough dinner. And too much sugar. That's all this is. Drink some water and you'll be fine."
Yeah... not so much.
All day I moaned and wallowed, not leaving the house and barely making my way into the shower. And at around 5:30 the day after my birthday, I got the full brute force of my beastly little roto virus kicking me in the stomach.
It was NOT pretty.
I don't do sick well. I cry and whimper and think I'm going to die. I worry that I'll get dehydrated and that my feet will never warm up again. With a fever of 102, I felt every hair in every follicle on my skin. (That's VERY distracting.) And my bathroom is way too small for extended visits.
The upshot is that I'm wikkid skinny now, starting to feel better, and know that at some point in my thirty second year I'll have to leave the house. I just hope it's out of the twenties (and not snowing) by the time I do.
Now go wash your hands.
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3 comments:
awwwwww!
I used to get violently ill every birthday of my life, that stopped last year I think.
Oh, and thirty-two-year-olds are sexy.
So sorry! I had a variation of clean-your-guts-out virus 2 weeks ago, it was kind of cool losing 8 pounds in 2 days but the side effects are not pleasant :/
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