THREE HOURS OF CONSCIOUSNESS AND MR T'S VENGEANCE... (?)
Ok. So even the thought of getting sick anymore just makes me almost irate. What a sentence, right? Fucking little Destroy Your Day Pathogens.... And the scene is something like this:
You end up sleeping for the better portion of the day- IE, 19 out of its 24 hours, or so. Of the “conscious” hours, 2 you really were, and the other three you were a damn good fake. Good bye bad Sunday. And Monday’s forecast looks almost as dismal. Going to work - the worse part, but ‘enjoying’ an upside of not feeling exactly as the shit bag you felt like on Sunday.
Aside from what ever it is which makes you feel like finding Kevorkian, food becomes your down right enemy. Any substantial movement is just as friendly. Two days without food almost entirely, and then by the time you get around to bitching about it, your body feels quite fried and rather weak to say the least. Good thing it only requires some finger movement and the occasional picking up of the cigarette.
Had I know, I certainly would have eaten more than a wee bit of food on Saturday. Maybe wouldn’t have drank so much that night.... At any rate....
The lining of the stomach is getting eaten at alarming rates, so it feels, however the alternative is eating which is anything but desirable as ‘forced’ ingestion would only lead to ‘forced’ expulsion...
Drinking water helps, but it does bring back that wretched feeling- Description: Having a bowling ball being catapulted into the ribcage- from the inside. Mr. T. pushing on said bowling ball to hold it in place, eventually to let it drop. Only to do it again... And a sweet little nauseating sensation all around for good measure.
Hence the horrible waves of “Bloody fucking hell- make it stop.”
Laying down might help. That makes it easier to curl up into a little ball when wave no. 8,359,017 comes around to kick your ass... or insides, I should say.....
And, no less, has my livejournal paid acct expired. Surly it is not the end of the world, nor have I lost my precious, but I enjoyed the bennies of the paid account. I enjoy not having to do the “Here’s a post so that I don’t lose it.” (Is that what this is?) Of course not. I’m giving a fine account of my bloody horrible feeling. But I am tired again. Very, very tired....
Laying down... Yah alright. So I might just go and try that... when is the news on... 06062005
You end up sleeping for the better portion of the day- IE, 19 out of its 24 hours, or so. Of the “conscious” hours, 2 you really were, and the other three you were a damn good fake. Good bye bad Sunday. And Monday’s forecast looks almost as dismal. Going to work - the worse part, but ‘enjoying’ an upside of not feeling exactly as the shit bag you felt like on Sunday.
Aside from what ever it is which makes you feel like finding Kevorkian, food becomes your down right enemy. Any substantial movement is just as friendly. Two days without food almost entirely, and then by the time you get around to bitching about it, your body feels quite fried and rather weak to say the least. Good thing it only requires some finger movement and the occasional picking up of the cigarette.
Had I know, I certainly would have eaten more than a wee bit of food on Saturday. Maybe wouldn’t have drank so much that night.... At any rate....
The lining of the stomach is getting eaten at alarming rates, so it feels, however the alternative is eating which is anything but desirable as ‘forced’ ingestion would only lead to ‘forced’ expulsion...
Drinking water helps, but it does bring back that wretched feeling- Description: Having a bowling ball being catapulted into the ribcage- from the inside. Mr. T. pushing on said bowling ball to hold it in place, eventually to let it drop. Only to do it again... And a sweet little nauseating sensation all around for good measure.
Hence the horrible waves of “Bloody fucking hell- make it stop.”
Laying down might help. That makes it easier to curl up into a little ball when wave no. 8,359,017 comes around to kick your ass... or insides, I should say.....
And, no less, has my livejournal paid acct expired. Surly it is not the end of the world, nor have I lost my precious, but I enjoyed the bennies of the paid account. I enjoy not having to do the “Here’s a post so that I don’t lose it.” (Is that what this is?) Of course not. I’m giving a fine account of my bloody horrible feeling. But I am tired again. Very, very tired....
Laying down... Yah alright. So I might just go and try that... when is the news on... 06062005