I hate food so much right now…

I’d usually start one of these posts off by talking about what I did during the weekend or something, but I’ve been incredibly sick for the past few days. Now, I have to give you a heads up right now, because a lot of this might be graphic, and my language might be a bit crude, but it’s just a testament to how I’ve been feeling. Sunday night, my family and I were watching Avatar on DVD, and while we were watching it, I was pigging out on these meatballs that my mom had made. After the movie was over, we had to bring my sister back to her place, but all of a sudden, I didn’t feel so great. I had this awful headache, and it was started to bother me. Everyone thought I was just being overly dramatic, but when I got home, I was running to the bathroom nearly every few minutes, and then at 1:30 in the morning, I started throwing up hard. It was probably the hardest I had ever thrown up in my life. It felt like it was actually getting stuck on the way out, like I was throwing up golf balls or something. The worst part was that while I was throwing up, the only taste in my mouth was the taste of the meatballs I ate. After that, from 1:30 to 5:30 in the morning, I was pretty much getting up every 30 minutes just to run to the bathroom (not to throw up; the OTHER thing). Then, when 6:00 am came around (the time I usually wake up to get ready for work), my dad took my temperature, and I was running a fever at 100.3. I got absolutely no sleep at all until about 9:30 that morning, after I called out sick to work.

On top of all that, my appetite was virtually non-existent. It turns out that I had eaten so much that one day that my body didn’t know what to do with all the food. So it was a feedback loop: I ate too much, and to return to equilibrium, my body had to get rid of everything and reboot itself. Of course, I fell victim to this total evacuation, and because of it, I really didn’t even want to look at food. My stomach felt like it was the size of a shot glass, and if I had attempted to eat anything, I probably wouldn’t have been able to keep it down. I was pretty much living off of Yakisoba, tomato soup, and Powerade.

Later last night, my parents took my temperature again: 100.7. It was only getting worse. I had taken a Tylenol the first time to break the fever, but it only came screaming back. The effectiveness of the Tylenol wasn’t as strong due in part to the fact that I hadn’t eaten. Usually, Tylenol should be taken on a full stomach for maximum impact, but my stomach was curled into the fetal position. I took another dose of Tylenol, and eventually the fever broke again, soaking not only the couch I was stuck on, but also the pillow, the cover, and my clothing.

I felt a lot better today, but still not well enough to head to work. I was disappointed that I couldn’t go back, but I knew that if I had tried to go back to work today, I would have either passed out at my desk or run to the bathroom every 10 minutes, given that my ass had a racetrack coming out of it over the past 36 hours (sorry for the imagery). I knew that any way I looked at it, I wasn’t going to be productive, and I wouldn’t have that same luxury of just laying on the couch and napping it off, or having some medicine and food available at any time. Everyone convinced me that I was making the right decision, but I still feel uneasy. This was the first time I had to call out of work due to actually being sick, and it’s a real bad feeling. I just feel like I should be at work. These days, I see every day that I’m not being productive as a wasted day. Of course, I couldn’t control this illness, either. But it’s still a bad feeling when you have a responsibility that you need to take care of, and you can’t do anything about it because of things like this. I know it’s a part of life, but I’ve always been more stubborn about it.

In fact, most of the reason I chose to get back into good physical shape was so that I could boost my immune system, and reduce the likelihood that I would end up getting sick, so I could be at work more days and make a decent living. Sure, I have paid leave and all that, but that won’t reduce the pile of work on my desk. It’s true: I’m becoming a workaholic. A few years ago, I couldn’t have cared less if I didn’t finish what it was that I had in front of me, but ever since college, I’ve wanted to be the more responsible one. I wanted to be the one that people can rely on to get the job done and all that. Of course, we’re all human too, and that’s the one thing I still find difficult to accept. I’ve been so robotic the past few months that I never even thought about a situation like this. Things like this will happen, but I have to make sure I don’t do anything stupid to make them happen.

Like eating a bunch of meatballs >=[

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