Come to Jesus.

You may have noticed that there was no entry yesterday. I was home sick with the screaming mimi’s. I am still weak, still recovering, but happy to not be curled up around the toilet like a long-haired cat on a 90-degree day. My body was a war zone, and my innards took it upon themselves to evacuate my body, taking with them my good humor and creativity.

Being sick like that (peeing out of your backside, hurling up days-old bile) is a true come-to-Jesus experience. “Jesus, if you make it stop, I promise I will never blog during workhours or eat another M&M off the floor of my car.” Thankfully, my symptoms subsided by late afternoon. But no less than 24 hours later, here I sit, writing this at 10 a.m. on a Wednesday morning. Oh, how the healthy take their wellness for granted. I fully expect toads or locusts to rain down upon me any minute now.

The good thing about being sick is that I’m no longer frustrated by my dirty house. I’m not worried about my workload (which needs to be completed in the next 2.5 days, as this Friday is my last day here). I am just happy that I can walk and drink water.

I must’ve given my throwupimus maximus muscles a good old burner of a workout. My entire thoracic region is being squeezed like a lemon. Breathing hurts.

When I got back to work this morning, I had to do the awkward “Yes, I know it’s my last week, but I really was sick” dance for my boss. Even half way out the door, my timing is impeccable. The entire time, I could see the “you’re full of shit” look in his eyes. But if there is one thing I am not, it is full of shit.

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