Dispatches from behind the quarantine curtain

If you have a weak stomach or prefer to think of me as an entity with no bodily functions, you might want to skip this post.

I made it 45 whole minutes at work today before having to duck out. I don’t know what’s wrong with me; I’ve been feeling pukey all day. First person to shout “preggers!” in his or her mind automatically assumes partial responsibility for the enormous child-support burden I will endure when I have the Lord’s baby.

So I took a nap and just a few minutes ago woke up with a less toothy version of the headache I fell asleep with. But this version is nagging me to go back to sleep again and see if I can wake up with a version of the headache that DOESN’T HURT, or maybe even with a winning lottery ticket wedged into my bra or something (like on that episode of CSI: Miami I saw last night). The good news is, I’m feeling a little bit hungry, which means maybe I will be able to eat something tonight. I’ve long since puked up all the contents of my stomach, including the delicious milky yellow stuff that serves as an indication that you’re one step away from the dry heaves — the most humiliating of all the heaves.

Earlier today, before work (and to be fair, it was probably around the time that I should have called out rather than pretend I was going to feel up to working), I puked so surprisingly forcefully that a little bit went into my nose. It did not come out of my nose, though. Just into it. It stung a little. And made me laugh, because not only did I have puke in my nose, but I had made a horrifying sound to get it lodged there. And none of this happened on purpose.

Remember what I said about the body being a wonderland? Sometimes I swear to god my body is a neverending spinning clown tunnel.

Ugh, the thought of that makes me barfy. I’m going back to bed.