I was sick of food, so I stopped eating

Below, you'll find a long-winded, bloated post about something best reserved for a sentence or two, maybe a paragraph. It's not pretty stuff. You've been warned.
-
I think it would be safe to say that your weekend was better than mine. Odds are, it was much better. I woke up Friday morning feeling as if I'd taken a handful of sleeping pills the night before. I could barely get out of bed. My muscles ached. From the previous day's yoga? I hoped so. Then, as the day progressed, I developed a throbbing headache and felt so lethargic I could barely keep my eyes open. There was a lot of work I needed to do; otherwise I would have gone home early.

By the time I left work, I felt even more lousy. My stomach was upset; I had some diarrhea at work, looked like I was in for more.I was hopeful, though, that whatever it was traveling through my system, would not take it's time about it. Still, on my way home, I called my dad and told him I might not be up for our scheduled visit on Saturday. There were multiple social events I feared I was going to miss out on, one of which was my friend Jessica's going away party.

That night stunk, but in light of what was coming, it was a walk down a country lane. The worst part was the fever. Once that settled in, I knew I was fucked. I had about three layers of blankets over me, despite it being at least ninety degrees outside. And when I'd have to get up and use the bathroom, I shivered uncontrollably. It was surreal. Everyone else had their air conditioners on; I was tempted to put on the heat. I didn't get much sleep that night.

The constant and unrelenting diarrhea began sometime after midnight, joining forces with the fever. I hoped this bug was like one of those severe thunder showers that are intense but short lived. It wasn't. I estimate that I made hundreds of trips to the bathroom over the course of the weekend. That is not an exaggeration. I could not leave the house, I could not do anything.

Spira saved my life and brought over some supplies for me, which included tp, Gatorade, and bananas. A simple act, perhaps, but one that was very much appreciated. Glad she was around. Liquids were the key; with my body not keeping anything down, it was key that I remained hydrated. Hence the Gatorade and its electrolytes.

Saturday night was more of the same. I couldn't do anything except rush to the bathroom. The thought of eating anything was appalling. A little rice, a saltine or two, a bit of banana was all I could stomach. If I slept that night it was only in short increments; the bathroom required my attention at least once every ten or twenty minutes.

Sunday arrived with more of the same, minus the intense fever. I spent the day feeling gross. Most of the weekend, my room smelled like meat and paint (Rich had fried up some bratwurst or some shit the day before and Janelle had just painted the cupboard) and my body felt over taxed and greasy.

When it became apparent that I wasn't getting any better, I called Marcy and left her a voice mail venting my concerns about coming to work today. I had taken some documents home with me that needed to get on record today in Cambridge. I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to manage it. She needed the heads up.

As it happened, I ended up going to the registry this morning. I got a solid three hours of sleep last night and I was only pissing out of my ass only about twice an hour, so I figured I'd suck it up and give it a go. I was confident I would be in and out of the registry. I was wrong.

I won't go into why it took so long, but I was there almost two hours. Should have taken twenty or thirty minutes tops. Fortunately, my stomach took it easy on me and I didn't have to visit the restroom. I actually started feeling better.

I didn't go into work. I'm still pretty ill. All weekend, my barometer for how close I was to recovery was picturing various food items. I figured that as soon as I found one that was even slightly appealing, I could be rest assured that I was on the road to recovery. I pulled out the big guns: pizza, crepes, spinach pie, ice cream, cookies. Nothing stimulated my taste buds. This morning, however, the idea of a eating a bagel wasn't so nauseating to me. Progress, son!

Being at the registry so long left me dehydrated. I should have brought something to drink with me, but hindsight is twenty twenty. I hit the grocery store afterward, picked up some liquids and found the most perfect thing on God's green earth, something that stimulated every ounce of my being: Italian ice! I had some when I came home and it was a transcendent experience. The best thing that's happened to me in days.

Whatever I've got, is a mean son of a bitch. I feel a bit better, but my stomach is still gurgling constantly, the bathroom is still a common sight, I still feel frail, and I have a near zero interest in food. Even my libido is shot to hell. Ah, nothing like being sick in the summer. Nothing like it.