Disclaimer: I am not pregnant. Do you hear me, you baby-mongering people, NOT PREGNANT.
I woke up feeling a little…unsettled this morning. I ignored it, showered, got dressed, and headed out the door. I battled nausea on my way to the train station and for the first half dozen stops on the train. Then, suddenly, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I turned to the woman next to me and said, “I need to get off. Right now.”
The poor woman got one look at my pale, sweaty face and got out of my way in a hurry. I bolted off the train and threw up in the garbage can.
Dear people at the 36th Street Station: I’m very sorry. I hope I didn’t get any on your shoes.
Then, I had to get back on the train and go downtown. Not home, to work. I have stuff that has to get done, folks! So, I ran into the office, glad I was planning on getting to work early today so I could avoid coworkers. I told my assistant (who is always there before me no matter how early I get there) what the score was. She ran a copy of a file for me, I shoveled another file off my desk and into my bag, and I was out of there.
I threw up twice more on the train ride home (well, dry-heaved, actually). The transit cop that was checking tickets caught me barfing and offered to drive me home, but by that point in time I was only a couple stops away, so he rode the rest of the way with me, making sure I was okay.
Dear transit cop: thanks. You’re always so nice when you check my ticket and you always recognize me, but I never knew how good a person you were until you sat next to me and chatted with me until we got to my stop.
I managed to drive the three miles home and change into my jammies without much incident. I dug a file out of my bag and had to run for the bathroom again.
Apparently in my dry-heave addled state, I decided that napping on the bathroom floor was a good plan. I woke up a couple hours later, sore and stiff and vowing to be a better housekeeper.
There’s nothing more motivating in terms of house-cleaning than waking up, already ill, to spot dust bunnies and a used q-tip (thank you, husband) on the floor.
The mister stopped home over lunch to bring me some crackers and 7-Up. I managed to keep them down and am starting to feel human again.
I still haven’t started on any of the work I brought home with me and my phone is beeping with unchecked emails. I know I should get going on them, but really, it’s so nice here on the couch with the ice pack and my 7-Up.