less than fun times are less than fun

Have you ever found yourself lying curled up in misery on the floor of a public bathroom? I have. Twice actually. The first time was when I lived in a dorm and had the stomach flu during my freshman year of college; the second time was on Friday.

Sorry for not writing until now, but I was busy dying.

Actually, that’s a lie. I wasn’t dying until Friday morning. In fact, when my alarm went off at quarter to six, I popped out of bed all excited that it was Friday. Isn’t it funny how we can talk ourselves into stuff? For most of the morning, I was more concerned about whether or not I thought I was going to vomit after all the double unders in that night’s WOD.

Eventually, it dawned on me that I wasn’t going to the WOD at all. Eventually, I realized that I really ought to be at home in my bed, or at least curled up on my own bathroom floor.

“Wow, you look like you not to happy to be … alive right now,” one of the guys informed me around lunchtime. “I was going to say ‘not too happy to be HERE,’ but that didn’t seem drastic enough.”

There is something seriously wrong with me. I didn’t leave work because I had a deadline, which sounds reasonable. But the real reason I didn’t leave work was because I was worried about what my boss would think if I told her I had to leave THE DAY we had to send out a big submittal. We spend weeks working on these things, but printing days are always the busiest. Plus, I accidentally acted really perky every time I talked to my boss throughout the day. I couldn’t help it. She was obviously in a good mood, and I kept automatically responding to her like I was too, even though I actually felt like death.

What the heck? Who does that?

But after that, I was worried she would think I was faking or something if I suddenly showed up in her office and said I had to leave early. On a FRIDAY AFTERNOON. Yup. So instead, I spent a few five minute sessions curled into a little ball on the bathroom floor trying to talk myself into finishing the work day.

I’m a mess. Friday definitely makes it into the top ten most miserable days of my life. And, don’t forget, I’ve been both run over and dragged by horses at various points in life. I finally made it home and didn’t really get out of bed for about 48 hours. Roomie was a fantastic mother substitute and fed me soda and juice so I didn’t shrivel up and die.

I missed going to L’s wedding; this made me feel sad and guilty, but only after I recovered enough to feel anything but miserable.

I seriously need to learn how to run my life better. Or something.

By the way, my computer seems to have crashed on me tonight (I’m on Roomie’s right now), which may put a damper on my post writing for a few weeks. But look how chill I’m being about the whole situation? I’m pretty impressed with myself too. Maybe, the computer will have sorted its problem out by tomorrow. Technology sometimes does that all on its own.

I do have a fun story for the next time I write. I promise. 


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