I might be the most miserable person alive

Yesterday was a day I like to forget.  I prefer to imagine my life without it happening at all.  It was a day of recovery from a very bad night, and before you jump to conclusions, it wasn’t “that” kind of night.  If only it was.  I was dehydrated with the worst hangover in living memory, without any of the fun and games (and inevitable regrets) that normally goes along with it.  I suffered from a spell of food poisoning, that, me thinks, was a result of mushroom sauce. No, it wasn’t “that” kind of mushroom sauce; I’m still trying to find a restaurant that will serve me “that” kind. The kind that makes you fly.

I spend most of the evening hugging a white, flushing, very cold, porcelain bowl, retching my lungs out.  Some people comically refer to vomiting as “calling George” based on the sound a person makes when he/she throws up.  If it was based on sound alone, then I was definitely not calling any person.  It was more like I was exorcising all the dark demons of hell in a language only they could understand.  The Wife closed the bathroom door, fearing I might be scaring the kids.  Isn’t she lovely?  Leaving me alone in my hour of need…

What I went through on Monday night can not be called vomiting.  Or even retching.  I was definitely not just puking either.  The medical profession still needs to come up with a condition for what I was doing.  I left parts of my eusophogus, stomach, lungs and soul in that damn toilet bowl.

Fortunately at some point it became morning and I was basically a very tired, dried-out, piece of meat.  Contrary to me just being a normal, handsome, piece of meat.  I have mentioned how women with a very twisted sense of responsibility would go to work even though they are semi-unconscious with a drip still stuck in their arm, whilst men would find ANY excuse to use that sick day. Well friends, I have to confess, I’ve gone to the dark side, I actually decided to go to work.  I had good reasons, but should have known better.  It turned out to be a very tough day, and it was even worse for the people who had the misfortunate of interacting with said person.

I hate being sick.  I despise it.  I assume most people feel the same way.  When I’m sick I’m extremely miserable.  I turn into Captain Sulk, the worst human being on the planet.  My superpower is a black hole that sucks all the joy out of anyone in close proximity.  My misery will stick to you like a piece of gum on the sole of your shoe.  It’s something I’m not proud of.  It’s actually kind of pathetic.  I don’t even try and hide it.  I’m all gangsta in your face and I’d be like: “I’m feeling like shit, so what the fuck are you gonna do about it? Wanna piece of me?”

I should do humanity a service and just stay in bed.  The Wife knows the only way to get through the days when I go from Happy to Sneezy to Grumpy is quite frankly, to just leave me alone.  Let me be.  Unfortunately this little trick is not known to everyone, so some people might make the mistake of trying to have a conversation. Or even worse, try and cheer me up.  They all fail, epically.  Most of them just run out crying with a tail between their legs.  Sometimes I don’t even know where they get the tail from.  I should just wear a sign that warns people to stay the fuck away. (Yes Mom, I know that’s the second one!)

I’m not proud of the person I become when I’m sick.  I know I’m a prick, but the irony is that I don’t care.  I’m under the weather so deal with it.  I’m ashamed when I think of how miserable a person I was yesterday, whilst there so many people out there who are fighting serious illness with a smile and an immeasurable positive spirit.  To you I would like to offer my sincerest apology for being such a whiny bastard.  But I can’t help it. I have a base programming error that causes a sense of humour failure every time my immune system has to fight off germs and disease.  Or a mushroom sauce.  Maybe it has to do with my inability to multi-task.

I’m a lot better today, thanks to some TLC, a lot of water and nine hours of sleep.  I feel like a million bucks.  No, make that a Billion and keep the change.  I survived a new haircut as well, so the Wife reckons I look the part too.  Isn’t she lovely?

May your day be filled with butterflies and daisies and those chirping little blue-birds you always see in cartoons, resulting in an attitude that will knock the day out of the park.  And FYI, be grateful for your health, it’s another one of those things you only miss when it’s no longer there.

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13 thoughts on “I might be the most miserable person alive

  1. I would like to add some of my favorite terms for vomit: technicolor yawn, bowing to the porcelain god and speaking caveman, and blowing cookies. Next time think about eating a greasy, cold pork chop, that fixes it for me every time. Will that one size small One Direction shirt will fit you now? Or, was this a case of late onset vomiting caused by the concert.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Haai foeitog,dis aaklig om so te voel!Ek weet ook van klou aan daai porseleinpot en sweet wat my aftap…het al baie met my gebeur.Ek neem jou nie kwalik dat jy so grompie was nie.Ten minste het jy dit heerlik humoristies beskryf! 😆

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Pingback: In loving memory of 2015 | Ah dad...

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