I heart Gatorade.

Friday night, circa 8pm:

Phone rings.

"Hey, Dad. . . .Driving to Wilmington. . . .He's with me, sitting in the back, eating peanut butter. . . .Yeah, good point, but I'm pretty sure it's only peanut butter products that have been recalled, not actual jars of peanut of butter. Plus, we've been eating this peanut butter for a few days and I think it's ok. . . .Just started out, should get there by about 1130. . . .Hope you and Mom have a good weekend. Love you, too."

I crank up the radio and grab my Clif bar. Starving. Longish day at work followed by dog walk, the gym, then furious packing and running out the door. Thank God for Clif bars to sustain me and not waste time.

Wait. This is a "Crunchy Peanut Butter" Clif bar. Hmm. Maybe I should call someone, make sure this isn't on the list of recall products.

Nah. Whatevs. This is "organic." I'm sure its fine. I didn't see anything like this last time I checked anyway (so what if that was over a week ago).  Munch. Munch. Mmm.  Heaven.

Circa 1145pm:
I have arrived in Wilmington, changed clothes, and put on make-up.  We are headed out for J's friend's birthday party at a local bar. After the week I've had, many, many drinks will be had.

Yes. This apparently includes a round of shots of Patron.

Circa 2am:
MOTHER F!*$&!!  Glass hit my tooth as I was trying to drink water. Chipped corner of tooth. Not sexy.

Saturday morning, circa 845am:
Masala, please, please sit down and quit licking me. Head pounding. Stomach killing me. Don't you know how it hurts to do tequila shots??!!

Groggily, I stammer toward the door and profess undying gratitude that the house J's living at for the next 6 months has a fenced in yard. This will buy me at least another hour's worth of sleep before he starts barking and must have his walk.

Circa 11am:
Must. Have. Biscuit.  Determined to eat an egg biscuit, I Google Bojangles in Wilmington because they are they only place I can think of that will still serve breakfast.  Ugh. Why did I do those damn tequila shots? On second thought, do I really need a biscuit?

Circa 1pm:
Can no longer breathe. Eye is swollen and red, can barely remove contact lens. J takes me to the Rite Aid for pharmaceuticals. Is this the fault of the tequila or perhaps just the cat?

Circa 430pm:
Laziness is good. Should probably get off the couch soon to walk the dog, then shower for dinner with aunt and uncle at the new-to-me Thai place.  

Circa 730pm:
Mmm. I love Green Curry! The spicier the better. Bring it on!

Decide that my life will remain unfulfilled until I move to a town with Thai food.

Circa 10pm:
Stomach hurts. A LOT.

WTF could have poisoned me at the Thai place? Only ate veggies! Ugh. Am sure I'm going to die. Curl up on couch with Breaking Dawn while J takes a bath.

Get motion sickness just watching Masala walk around the room. Am I still hung over? WTF?

Circa 1130pm:
Must. Sleep. Instruct J not to touch me whatsoever or else vomiting may occur. 

Sunday, Circa 2am, 3am, 430am, etc:
Why is it so hot in here? Why is the room spinning? Why did someone run over my stomach with a truck?

Circa 8am:
Why do I even own a dog? I hate dogs. All they do is pee and take walks when I need to sleep off food poisoning. Damn Thai food.

Circa 9am:
Drag comforter to the couch and beg J to watch Friday Night Lights.

Circa 1030am:
Drag self into shower. Must meet Andi and Pen for lunch. Will not let my girls down no matter how sickly J says I look nor how many times I have to pause while getting ready to crouch in fetal position because my stomach hurts so. freaking. much.

Circa 1130am:
God bless J for agreeing to drive me to lunch. Inhale 2 Ginger Ales, a scone, and some homemade potato chips.  Enjoy company of new and old friends and adorable children. Wonder how anyone who feels as crappy as I do on the inside can still eat so much. Am miraculously cured! Regret this decision mere moments after walking out of restaurant.  It seems I have pushed the envelope too far.

Circa 3pm:
J returns from second visit to Rite Aid in 24 hours with much needed Pepto Bismol and carbonation. Will watch tennis and movies and laze on the couch. All will be fine. "Pause" was invented for these sorts of occasions. 

Situate self on couch in very specific position, all other positions inducing nausea and extreme discomfort.

Circa 6pm:
WHEN WILL THIS MOVIE END?! It has been going on forever. And it's awful.  We decide to take a break and order pizza. Well, J orders pizza. I eat a piece of dry toast.

In the meantime, decide to research more about food poisoning. Discover that my bloody Clif Bar HAS BEEN FUCKING RECALLED after all.

Holy. Shit. It wasn't a hangover or the Thai food.

I have the Salmonella! Call J and beg him to bring me Gatorade, nectar of the gods.  Discover prior attempts at settling the stomach (carbonated beverages and medicine) actually do more harm than good, as bacteria needs to be eliminated from the body asap. Great.

Circa 630pm:
Rationing the Gatorade. It makes me feel alive. ALIVE! Decide I can even eat pizza.

Circa 745pm:
Pizza was very bad idea. Stomach kicking me. If I didn't know better would swear I am pregnant. Will never reproduce.

Monday Morning, circa 8am:
Have slept for the last 10 hours. Delicious.  Stomach has eased somewhat, but requires urgent trip to the rest room.

Feel well enough to take M for a short walk. 

Circa 810am:
Nope. Walking the dog was terrible, no good, very bad idea.  Have zero strength. Stomach hurts everytime I have to pull the leash even a little.  Want to vomit. 

Circa 9am:
J is leaving for work and will be gone for the next 12 or so hours. Technically, I am supposed to be at work.  Call in sick, but decide to make my way home to my own couch and bed, where Masala will be less of a spaz and let me rest in peace. Without motion sickness. Even watching people run on TV makes me nauseous.

Circa 2pm:
Finally arrive home. Have vegetable broth, crackers, and Gatorade.  Sweet, sweet Gatorade. Decide I will probably live, but sleeping and watching more bad TV should come before any attempts to go to work tomorrow. Masala concurs and lays in his spot on the couch.