WARNING: The following post is graphic. Viewer discretion is STRONGLY advised.
It started off as a typical Thursday. Well, not entirely true.
I had two cups of coffee (I hate coffee). After not being able to fall asleep till about 5AM, it'd be safe to assume that I was exhausted when I got up a few hours later. I had hoped coffee--as much as I despised it--would help perk me up. It just made me feel nauseous.
I ran some errands, dropped off employment apps for a position at the local police station, and went home to get ready for what was supposed to be a hot date with my fiance. When he got home from work, he complained he wasn't in the mood to go out and that he hadn't been feeling good all day (though he couldn't tell me specifically what didn't feel good). I was a little disappointed, but it's not his fault if he wasn't well. No biggie. I'd rather him stay home and get better anyways.
Cameron, my fiance, promised we'd go out tomorrow night instead since he didn't have to work the late shift. About 30 minutes later he steps outside to accept a phone call. Eventually he tells me that our plans are yet again being cancelled because his boss called him to inform him that he'll be working the dreaded late shift. Not that I'd mind a very late dinner, but by the time he'd get home, clean up, and drive to the location, the kitchen will have already closed. So it's another bummer, but he was much more upset about it than I. Shit happens. That's okay. We agreed we'd go on Monday since it's his day off.
Despite understanding the situation, I was still sort of disappointed and wasn't in the mood for cooking a late dinner, so I let him polish off the rest of the fish sticks we had (which he ended up overcooking, too) and I decided to have a simple bowl of cereal--Cinnamon Toast Crunch, generic style. I wasn't all that hungry anyways.
I couldn't tell you exactly why my stomach decided to hate me tonight, but it might have been the resentment that lingered between the 2% milk and Mountain Dew. Needless to say, 2% milk, Mountain Dew, and I convened on the bathroom toilet for a back and forth argument the lasted for two hours. In between the soundtrack of a thick waterfall, bouts of interval screaming, and my semi-sweet fiance refreshing me with a cold, wet towel, I was able to get some reading in. So, you know, yay for me.
I did have a new experience out of all of this. Cameron had some leftover pain anointment called Lidocaine. You know, the stuff the dentists use. It has a great numbing quality, so it's also used for minor surgeries and also for relieving itching, burning, and pain from inflammation. It was created in 1943 by a Swedish chemist and okay no one probably wants a report on it, at the moment. Anyways, it was interesting. It was kind of like my asshole didn't exist when the medication made contact. I'll have to remind myself to apply it before for experimental purposes the next time 2% and MD congregate.
I certainly don't want anyone to think that I find my troubles significant. I'm a big believer that everything happens for a reason (even a stomach ache) and that there is no point in getting overly worked up when there is a solution. Besides, when I wasn't enduring distracting pain, I got some reading done on GENERATION DEAD by Daniel Waters.
Here's some good news though: Soon I'm going to post a review on THE FAULT IN OUR STARS by John Green, an original Nerdfighter.
POST WARNING: If you were at all disgusted by my post, don't say I didn't warn you.
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