That's right. Two weeks after getting a horrible stomach flu, it returned and this time it brought company: a vicious head cold.
This meant no cold medicine, which made for unending post nasal drainage, which, on an empty upset stomach, made for the Worst, Most Unforgivably Disgusting Sickness Ever. Think about it...when that's all your stomach has in it...
Shudder. Anyway. Just like the flu I got two weeks ago, it followed an [INNOCENT, G-RATED] evening with a boy that lasted until 3 a.m., and hit on a Tuesday. My boss probably thinks I'm lying. I went into work for a short spell today for good measure, to show everyone how much like shit I look.
My last bout with soul-sucking illness followed the evening with The Really Tight End. Which went quite well. This week's version followed the more platonic evening with a mellow, good-natured young Marine who is taking me shooting next time I'm free and non-puking. This guy is probably, mmm, in the top 3 of Nicest People Ever, is a Big Brother, carries a concealed weapon, is one of mmm, the top 3 humans I think are actually qualified to carry a concealed weapon, is the President of the Young Men's in his ward, and opened my door even though it wasn't a date.
He showed me how to hold a gun (shut up, perverts), but due to my freakish paranoia and terror and overall aversion to firearms, he unloaded it, removed all the thingamajiggies from it, and gently explained to me just how it worked, while I made a mental note to go to the Wiki page on guns and actually memorize what he said to me. All this on my sewing table.
It was fun.
Then I got horribly ill.
I spent the next entire day laying on my bathroom floor pleading with God to let me sleep in between barfing spells or at least open up the clenched stomach so I'd at least just be sick from "the other end" but NOOOOOO. Barfing only. By the 24th hour of misery, I just started weeping. I was so tired, and so unsure of what to do to comfort myself, and really worried it was going to last the entire next day. It was the first time I missed having a husband. The Starter Husband was very good at sick care. He excelled at it. Having cute boys around is great when I'm vibrant and alive and hardass and holding my own cash. But when I'm vulnerable, I want someone REALLY comforable around, and the only person like that is a husband or a mom.
So I called The Starter Husband, squeaking and sobbing. "Are you busy?"
He was, but he knew That Voice, and after pausing said "No."
I wheezed that I don't really miss him until I get really sick or get robbed or something, and I really like being single and I'm so happy, but it's times like when you're dry-heaving, when being married was better. Then I instantly proceeded to describe all the gory details of what my body was doing, in between sobs. He offered to bring me a McRib (because it would be so interesting to taste it going back up. His words), and offered to go get me medicine, or bring me the dog, or fix my internet so I could read Dlisted (all his ideas). He knew I would decline, which I did, but it was all the stuff your Comfortable Person says to you that makes you feel a little better. After a couple of funny Mogleydog stories, I said I felt better and we said bye.
I'd like to say it was a low point, but it wasn't. I'm relieved I don't have to be bitter and hateful toward him, so that I can have him a call away for the things I can't feel comfortable calling up my tight ends and marines for. He knows I'm not in love with him, that I don't miss our marriage, that I'm happier this way, and that I don't want to start things up again. He knows I just needed to cry to someone I'm not nervous about grossing out. I'm lucky.
In other news, I went to my aunt Jenni's and stayed over, long enough to give her child Skor Bar cake for breakfast while she was still in bed...
I also bought myself those divorce boots I was telling you about. Oh, and hit the Nordy's sale for some True Religions to fit my new divorcorexic (and involuntarily Bulimic) ass...
We had New Year's Eve home-rolled sushi, as is the tradition...
Overate, as is also the tradition...
Played a few intense rounds of Apples to Apples...
And my New Year's date was a three year old Malamute (whoa, almost four).
Anyway, in boring fashion, I'm back. Good to see you.
3 comments:
I love the boots! And the fact that the Starter is still there when you need him. My Starter was always there for me too. And I hope I was there for him when he needed me. It's a good thing to have, community, and it comprises random relationships that you wouldn't expect to rely on.
those are gorgeous boots. I want them. In red.
I haven't made sushi for a long long time. I think I might break out my rolling mat and make some this week. Thanks for the inspiration.
hahaha divorcerexic.
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