Yesterday for lunch, I made myself some nachos – fat old lady from Michigan style – corn tortilla chips, Mexican blend cheese and Pace (mild) salsa.
When I was almost done, suddenly, with no warning, my body decided to tell me my luncheon choice was not acceptable.
I knew I was about to throw up.
So I run to the bathroom, and hover over the porcelain altar.
Now, my body is caught in a fight with itself.
One part is screaming, “Get rid of it.”
The other part is screaming, “No! It’s mine.”
So I have a lovely case of the heaves with no result.
So frustrating, because you know if you could just empty your stomach all would be well – or at least better.
I think about calling in sick and just going to bed, but I was brought up to believe that unless there is actual vomit, you are not really sick.
So back to the computer I go.
At least I get to feel miserable at home.
As the afternoon progresses, I feel no better (but not much worse).
Time to shut down and think about dinner.
My body says, no dinner for you lady – unless you want to be wearing it.
So Bill gets home and I let him know, he’s on his own for dinner and I go crawl into bed.
I get up a couple of hours later – still not hungry, but I know I need to eat something.
Unfortunately, I haven not been shopping lately, so there is not much in the house.
I consider rice (one of my all time favorite foods) but amazingly my body says, absolutely not.
So I try some applesauce.
I eat some chocolate (hey, I thought it might coat my stomach – or at least make me feel better).
I eat a donut stick (no plain bread in the house that isn’t about to sprout greenery) – at least it’s bland.
We’re out of club soda (which I should have thought of way earlier in the day – d’oh.)
I give up.
Today, I feel somewhat better – amazingly (for me) still not really hungry.
At least my Cream of Wheat is not causing any overt reactions – yet.
I’m just so WTF body – just get over whatever it was, would you?
At least until I go grocery shopping and pick up a cart full of club soda.