It's official,

I'm sick.

Ugh. After I spoke with you last night, I did my best to resolve the issue regarding the paper. It did not go well. In typical LittleFoot fashion, it ended up being a generally insensitive list of issues that needed to be resolved. In my mind, it was just business. To the rest of the world, apparently, it was a verbal assault.

FAIL.

I tried to put it behind me. Tried to let it go, and write it off as one of the inevitable side effects of group work, but I felt SOOOOOO bad. I couldn't sleep. I was so sick to my stomach over it that I just couldn't function. I wrote a long and rambling email trying to explain how things like this happen in my world. How sometimes I fail at realizing that other people have feelings, and that those feelings can get hurt...you know, until after I've already hurt them. I sent it just after 12:30 am.

By 1 am I was having a full blown panic attack. I was on the verge of crying and pacing around. I took a bath, I rocked back and forth, I just couldn't shake the sick, sick feeling in my gut.

At 2:30 I went back to bed.
I lay there and tossed and turned.
I watched the minutes tick by on the clock.
I listened to Thus Spoke Zarathustra on audio book.
I tossed and turned some more.

By 3:30 I was beginning to feel seriously ill. I sat up and immediately decided that was a bad idea. I crawled to the bathtub and took yet another bath. At just past 5 I let the water drain and sat with my head over the edge of the tub trying to shake the delirium just enough to let me find my work clothes.

I stumbled back to the bedroom, and for just a moment lay down on the bed to say good morning to the dog.

I stood back up and immediately vomited all over my lovely bed.

The next 40 minutes or so were spent vomiting up coffee stained caramel apples and ravioli from the night before into the bathtub, since that's as far as I could make it. It was that awful early morning kind of vomit, the kind that is ridiculously viscous and comes up practically in tube form.
Like human hair balls.
Trichobezoars.
Owl Pellets.

Horrible.

There aren't really even words to describe exactly how horrible it was, and nothing I can say would really do it justice, but it was horrible.

My whole day has mostly been a repetition of last night. Can't sleep. Can't get comfortable. ALL of me hurts. Can't stop throwing up. Constantly taking baths.

I'm ready to die. Honestly.

But it's midterms week, of course, and so my suffering is mostly irrelevant. I keep moving forward. Keep compulsively completing assignments somehow. Keep praying that I will be well enough for my big road trip this weekend. (Though that's starting to look seriously doubtful. *frowns*)

Blegh.

Anyway, that's all I know.
I really am hopelessly fond of the random pictures you send me now, since your phone doesn't work right. Particularly right now when I feel so badgered by words all the time. Tell P I don't want to punch him in the face when I talk to you either, which I think is the universal sign of acceptance into the inner circle. It's because we share the same birthday. That's the source of our powers of awesomeness.

Sending you lots of love Dear Friend. Lots and lots of love.