Sam West saved me today. I felt awful, absolutely awful when I woke up this morning, but there was Sam on the tv, and everything felt better. I eschewed doing my hair properly, a shower and obviously breakfast in lieu of watching Sam in the Vacillations of Poppy Carew. Didn't think much of the programme, but I loved Sam. I was all warm and tingly in a soft fluffy bed, the way it only is when I have to get up on a cold, dark, wet morning, and lingered til the very last minute.
I rolled into weekend clothes still left in a heap at the foot of the bed from when I'd gone down to the Doc's (I don't care if I look like a bag lady, I feel like one), and staggered up to the bus stop, five minutes late but in time, still very wobbly and slow witted and only partially here, the way over twelve hours of non stop vomiting will do that to a girl.
I shall have to beg off the food fair and dinner I had lined up for the weekend, as I suspect no one will be much keen on keeping company with Spewmatica the Vomit Queen. Oh well. I shall stay in bed and catch up on a fortnight's worth of telly, including both Sams which I taped (hopefully). Even more hopefully it will drizzle all weekend so I can lie about guilt free (thanks to me there's a simply enormous pile of washing to be done).
Didn't watch Stargate last night, being as ickle as I was. I saw snatches of scenes in passing and in between passing out but that was about it. It was the Jack and Harry stranded one anyway and not a personal fave of mine, so no great loss.
Ooops. Short pause while I go and retch again. While I appreciate the opportunity to mess up toilets not my own I find I am a precious thing, and it's so much better throwing up in my own loo, with my own towels to lie down on in between bouts. I wish I could stay home but my evil Boss won't have it. He wouldn't even let me go home early yesterday. I really hate that man. Really, absolutely, with no chance for parole, hate him.
Oh well, at least this hazy not all there feeling has led to productive fic typing - the sort of typing where I improve upon my hand written scrawl, rather than mere reproduce it (at least I think I've improved upon it, nearing in mind that I'm quite loopy right now). I've worked some more on the Scottish adventure. I should settle down with some choice inspirational dvds and finish it off this weekend (though my plans for uninterrupted sloth never, ever work out, whimper).
Mother bought me some pretty things yesterday from the $2 shop, so even Mother thinks I'm being harshly done by. Mercy.
It's been a while since I've been this abused from sun up and sun down. In fact I was musing upon the many, many times I'd been bashed up at school by Melinda Madden and her gang of slags (brought on by an entire night's retching making me sore all over in a way familiar with a good, solid beating) and the bus took a sudden detour. I was half dozing and we turned down the street the bus used to go down to high school and I jerked awake, heart in my mouth.
Even though we were waved past the school by the police and there was no Melinda to turn me into pastry (she and her gang once dragged me behind the sheds, held me down and stabbed me over and over again with a very blunt garden fork so I ended up looking like a pie lid. I was hysterical but everyone, especially my mother, thought I was lying and I'd inflicted the wounds myself and I was punished, and it's still not a happy memory, not at all) I'm still unhappy because today will probably turn out worse. Idiot Boss has touched the very systems he was told not to touch and I don't know how to fix them because the instructions from my departing colleague were don't touch 'em. Sigh. Because you know I'll be expected to fix 'em. It's a serious political issue if I can't get the sites fully functional today. Just call me David Kelly. Oh, now the server has fallen over again. Damn it Jim, I'm a librarian, not a sys admin!
Something proactive: had a word to HR re work conditions and what amused me most was their collective horror at the removal of the kitchenette without warning. A woman understands these things - grin.
* Homer Simpson quote