Diary of Badness

So I eventually dragged my sorry ass into work today, wearing a cardigan covered in cat fur, a sad / pained expression and still feeling rather nauseous from the after effects of a particularly vile three-day dose of gastro. Apparently I looked like shite (thanks three work colleagues) As a weightloss tool, gastro cannot be faulted. In reality, I was lying on the couch begging to die or at least for someone to place a heavy pillow on my face and push hard.

You don’t need the details, but I don’t care. This is all I have done over the last three/four days and it’s my blog. I’ll vomit if I want to.

*why is the Sun being such a bastard? Question:….

Day 1. What’s happening to me? Why? Oh God I want to die. I’m so thirsty and yet I cannot keep liquids down. I want my mum.There’s nothing in the house to make me feel better. Only water! Why?

(Kate comes to the rescue with multiple bottles of sweet fizzyjuice whilst neatly sidestepping me in case I infect her) Hurrah! Oh god, oh ow wow ow

Day 2. Why am I not better? Why? I’m hungry but too scared to eat. Maybe if I had some soup. Ok, soup then. Success! Soup stays down! I think I feel better. NO, wait, no I feel worse. I bet my neighbours hate me. I hope they don’t think I’m drunk or something.

Day 3. I was going to go to work but I just vomited again and I feel all weird. I’m going to sleep on my couch-bed with everything I need within arm’s length. Except the bathroom. Why am I dreaming about songs about frogs? Oh yeah, left the TV on the kid’s channel and fell asleep. Why do my friends keep suggesting alcohol will make me feel better? I love/hate them. Quite clearly, this is one of those Very Rare Cases where it won’t help.

Day 4. Better go to work. Why did I have a milky coffee this morning? Ugh. So far three people have told me I look like shit. No one has said I look skinny. Why can’t I vomit quietly and discreetly like people on TV? Why do I sound like a sea monster roaring at the toilet bowl? Neighbours definitely hate me. Been off the booze for four days now. Totes proud of myself. Except now it’s Friday and Friday means drinks but my stomach is saying “just try my, you horrible person. Then see what you get.”

Update: I drank far less than usual, but getting the call up to the local by “the crew” could I refuse? In defence, I actually had dinner at a proper restaurant and ate half of it. Win Win Win. AND I wore my second skinniest pair of jeans and they hung off me like a motherfucker. Gastro diet WIN.


About ohhellwhatthehell

I like gin, mittens and otters, not necessarily in that order. Here's some stuff I felt like writing down when I'm not chained to a desk writing other things for a living. Please use caution when using this site; there may be sweary words, cute animals and general bullshit. Don't say I didn't fucking warn you.
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