Somewhere in NY or here at home I caught the Black Plague. This whole week has been spent hanging onto my shit just long enough to get home and have a meltdown for J. Three nights this week I went to bed at a time starting with 7, maybe once at :45 and maybe once at :30 and MAYBE JUST MAYBE at :15 one day. MAYBE. Wednesday I somehow found myself face down on the bathroom floor begging J to just let me sleep there as he tried to drag me off to bed. Just in case you were imagining that I was somehow spiraling into hysterics here.
This morning a new and DELIGHTFUL symptom emerged--explosive diarhea. I had to go to work, my business trip a couple of weeks ago led into a whole lot of stuff that needs to get done by next week, so I invented a new "please do not let me shit my pants" prayer (I'm not sure that God cares about pants shitting but just in case) with a whole lot of not really Hebrew but I am sure HE UNDERSTANDS. I don't know about your office but mine would never stop talking about that girl who shit her pants. I would be a legend.
Fortunately, I am not a legend.
I made it through the day, just barely. Got shit DONE. Which thank god because I am not doing anything this weekend except lying on the coach and moaning. I live a rock star life I know.
I am enjoying all the personal space I am getting on public transportation--if you sound like you are inches from death then no one wants to sit next to you. Cannot imagine why. I feel a little guilty, being out and about, because I get so pissed when sick people go to work. But sometimes things can't be helped--the things I need to do I can't do from home. So I used like a boxed of Kleenex and a giant tub of Clorox wipes. Every hard surface I looked at got wiped down multiple times today.
Hopefully I won't pass this shit on.