Not for the Faint of Heart. Or the Faint of Butt.

I am pooey and barfy. It’s a bad sign when you’re in the bathrooom to do #2, but you know it sounds like a very loud #1 outside the door :(.

Alex and I went out to eat at Fresco, an Italian place on 10th and Trenton in McAllen. I had the Margherita pizza. Oy. That’s the most likely culprit, I think. I had eaten almost nothing else all day. At 2:00 a.m. or so (memory is fuzzy), I got up and went through the whole puking thing: “I’m not gonna puke. This is just one of those times when I think I’m gonna puke, but then I end up not puking. I’ll stand right here, just in case, but I’m totally not gonna — BLAAAGHGHGHGHAAAAARRRGH!!!”

Only louder, and with more heaving. About six times in a row. I can’t believe how much I puked. I told Alex it was a gallon, but I think that’s impossible, so I’ll say it was 3 liters or so. And it was so acidic that my throat still hurts. My teeth feel rough, like the acid ate a teeny layer of enamel off them. I don’t know how bulimic people do it. They must be much more dedicated than I am.

I got a card from my sister-in-law, with a cute pic of her and my brother with their little baby. The card started off, “I hope this finds you both well…” 50% accuracy with that statement.

So, I skipped 2 classes, office hours, and a research meeting. I tried to go this morning, but I had to go puke some more. Nasty, but less acidic. Thankful for small things. Alex is babying me, and I’m being a whiny baby. It’s kind of nice. I’m thinking of manufacturing an illness once or twice a year, in the future.

In other news, my grandpa is probably going to die tonight. I probably won’t be able to make it to his funeral next week, and I’m not sure it would be very meaningful to me (I really don’t know him very well), but I feel melancholy and pensive about the whole thing. I keep wondering what my Dad is going through. His relationship with his father has not, as I understand it, been universally positive.