Tales from the Gallows

Gallows humor, that is.

Let's recount my shitty week--Tuesday I'm sick, but I also scheduled two job interviews, so that was more important. I'm putting it in as a vacation day, even though I was sick. Wednesday, I'm still feeling icky. Thursday, illness/icky continues, but I get my flu shot anyway since it was free. Hell, I pay enough for health care, so fuck it, stick the damn needle in my arm and let the spores begin.

OH did they.

After a sleepless night of nausea, vomiting and other internal "shifts", shall I say, I can barely stand up without shaking because 1) I'm dehydrated; 2) I'm still nauseous; and 3) I've eaten nothing since about 5 pm the night before. So, what do I do? I cancel my skating session, and get up at my regular time bleary-eyed and dizzy. I'm so late now it's not even funny. I get on the train, hoping I don't puke. Then I do. I ask myself quite honestly, "WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?" I call my coworker (not the shit-eating dictator) and say I'm turning around and going home. She says why the hell did I try and get out of bed at all, and I realize she's right. She's also human, and I'm not dealing with humans where I work, I'm dealing with evil pods that grew out of a cornfield. (Cornfields with split-level condos in Connecticut and New Jersey, that is.) So, I attempt to eat a paltry meal of french toast at an overpriced diner. It tastes like cardboard, but considering my lingering nausea? I've got to line my stomach before my next Linda Blair Moment.

I get on the train and get home ok. I pick up cat food. My fuzzers still need to eat, even if I can't for the rest of the day. I crawl into bed. I sit there for what seems like an eternity spinning inwardly. I collapse, yank the covers over me, and sleep finally arrives. Mom calls, I respond that I'm dead and I'll call back later. If I don't die further. It's maybe 5 pm?

I wake up that night at 8, crawl out of bed, gasping for breath, fresh air, water and almost knock Dexter into the hall. He's on four legs, I'm on two. That makes him much nimbler by default. He swishes his tail, and sulks on the couch. I proceed to gulp all ?? ounces of ?? sized glass of water in about 5 seconds flat. Pukey throat ain't funny, kiddies.

A nice bowl of oatmeal fills my turbulent stomach. Peppermint tea follows. Then the gamut of Friday night tv begins. It's nothing but Halloween programming! Oh, goodie. Blood, mayhem, ghosts, puke, guts, gore, hauntings and pain. That reminds me that my period's due soon, so more peppermint tea.

Now I have a welt from the flu shot, cramps in my stomach and my back, my left flu-vaccined arm hurts, and I have a headache. Was this a vaccine or a micronized dose of the actual flu? Is it ebola? Avian flu? Smallpox? Oopaloopalitis? What if this is a military experiment and I'm just another number on some government list? (Gotta stop watching the history channel.)

Still, I love Halloween programming: psychics, haunted houses, Edgar Allen Poe, Dracula, hell, they even showed the full three-minute Harry Potter trailer! I've got entertainment. I'll worry about how my shitty job yells at me when I get back on Monday. Which is actually Halloween. The day of witchy splendor. I'll be sure to wear black and on of my famous amulets--I've got about six of them and each one elicits strange stares when worn. I'll be sure to wear my Seal of Barbeulis, it always keeps the evil spirits at bay. CEOs my ass, I hate these petty frauds calling themselves a company.

Please, kiddies, say a prayer that I get out by Thanksgiving, or its no turkey again for me this year.

UGH

Off for more peppermint tea. I'm not sleeping, as you can see.