Still Being Sick (You Don't Want to Read This, I Promise You, Lol . . . )

Hello, everyone; I'm back again today.

This is really weird. I have sweat DRIPPING off me-- and, oddly, off my belly. It's rolling down my skin. It scared the hell out of me when it first happens, but it keeps going . . . and my heart rate just skyrocketed, too . . . this is kind of scary . . .

I'm going to force myself to eat a popcorn cake.

My days have gone like this: I wake up, exhausted, embroiled (is that a word? Did I even use it right? Lol . . . ) in sweat, and I roll out of bed to the couch. I sit there and shiver under a blanket for a few minutes. Then, Mom gives me some ice water (like half a glass of water with like five ice cubes-- it's the only way I can drink it, cold enough . . . ), and offers me something to eat. We ran out of watermelon and so I'm suffering a dearth of appetite again. I usually eat a Push-Up. Those things save my life. Then I lie on the couch for a long time, recovering, and then I finally go into the bathroom and take painkillers and ibuprofen, and sprinkle baking soda on my sore in my mouth, and spray myself with chloroseptic, a lot, and rinse out the front half of my mouth, so my new ailment, one of those inflamed taste buds, doesn't get irritated. Then, I'm social for a little bit, and Dad asks me, "Feeling better?" and I usually am, but I don't say it, because it jinxes it; it always does-- and it would be a lie, besides. By the time I'm done digesting my food I'm drained again and I crawl back into bed. Occasionally I forgo the eating and I'll shower or go online instead. Online's the only time I'm semi-functional because I can be completely gone in what I'm doing, not what I'm feeling, not just lying on the couch, "healing," or whatever. That's just plain painful and hurts like hell. Showering takes an hour because the warm (well, scalding ^_^) water feels so good, and it takes me so long to will myself to get out, and then to PHYSICALLY get out and dry off. I crawl into bed with wet hair and it prompts my fevers and breakages. I think I have been getting little mini fever cycles. I drool all over the pillows. It repeats, about once every two or three hours . . . I sleep longer than I am awake, usually . . . it's very sad . . .

I was just considering the bad portance tomorrow has for me. It's one of those story voodoo things. At least I can prevent suicide, I guess-- but, oh, how timely and how fitting that would be . . .

. . . I did say that I wanted to kill myself because of those. I hope dearly that it does not come to that, but, honestly, when I wake up and I feel like shit, I want to die. When I cannot breathe because of the soreness of my throat and the mucus of my nose . . . it's better to be awake, than asleep, but one must be asleep to enable one's self to be awake . . .

How ironic that would be . . .

( The Nitty-Gritty Details of the Effects on my Body and Eating Habits That I'm Sure You Don't Want to Read So Don't Even Bother )

There's no real clear end in sight. I'm not going to wake up better, and I'm not doing a whole hell of a lot better than I was in the original afflictionatory (yeah, well, I KNOW that's not a word, lol . . . ) days.

Liz and Nate came up yesterday; Liz had vowed to bike up here sometime, and she did. So I attempted to stay awake for her and be entertaining, and, well, it was fun when I wasn't exhausted and had to crawl back into a hole and go to sleep, lol. They ate some of the chicken and stuff there was going to be a ton of if somebody didn't eat, and I actually ate some of the vegetables. I was proud of myself; I actually sat at the dinner table!

I'm still so sorry Nichole and Kristina couldn't come up for the fireworks, and I guess it probably seems unfair that Liz and Nate got to see them and if they were up then Nik and Xie could have come up no problem, too . . . but, God, I can't plan anything. I can't think. I just sort . . . exist, right now. I talk to people online when they speak to me. Other than that, it's pure, unadulterated uselessness.

I hate it.

Here's to hoping that I don't die tomorrow or something . . . the last few minutes kind of scared me, and it's not very goodly-portentious, tomorrow is not . . . but I am, after, a whiner and a drama queen . . . you know, not that the fact that my appendix f*cking exploded and I didn't "notice" for ten days, matters, or anything, lol . . .

When it hurts, it usually means something, for me.

Still Being Sick (You Don't Want to Read This, I Promise You, Lol . . . )

Hello, everyone; I'm back again today.

This is really weird. I have sweat DRIPPING off me-- and, oddly, off my belly. It's rolling down my skin. It scared the hell out of me when it first happens, but it keeps going . . . and my heart rate just skyrocketed, too . . . this is kind of scary . . .

I'm going to force myself to eat a popcorn cake.

My days have gone like this: I wake up, exhausted, embroiled (is that a word? Did I even use it right? Lol . . . ) in sweat, and I roll out of bed to the couch. I sit there and shiver under a blanket for a few minutes. Then, Mom gives me some ice water (like half a glass of water with like five ice cubes-- it's the only way I can drink it, cold enough . . . ), and offers me something to eat. We ran out of watermelon and so I'm suffering a dearth of appetite again. I usually eat a Push-Up. Those things save my life. Then I lie on the couch for a long time, recovering, and then I finally go into the bathroom and take painkillers and ibuprofen, and sprinkle baking soda on my sore in my mouth, and spray myself with chloroseptic, a lot, and rinse out the front half of my mouth, so my new ailment, one of those inflamed taste buds, doesn't get irritated. Then, I'm social for a little bit, and Dad asks me, "Feeling better?" and I usually am, but I don't say it, because it jinxes it; it always does-- and it would be a lie, besides. By the time I'm done digesting my food I'm drained again and I crawl back into bed. Occasionally I forgo the eating and I'll shower or go online instead. Online's the only time I'm semi-functional because I can be completely gone in what I'm doing, not what I'm feeling, not just lying on the couch, "healing," or whatever. That's just plain painful and hurts like hell. Showering takes an hour because the warm (well, scalding ^_^) water feels so good, and it takes me so long to will myself to get out, and then to PHYSICALLY get out and dry off. I crawl into bed with wet hair and it prompts my fevers and breakages. I think I have been getting little mini fever cycles. I drool all over the pillows. It repeats, about once every two or three hours . . . I sleep longer than I am awake, usually . . . it's very sad . . .

I was just considering the bad portance tomorrow has for me. It's one of those story voodoo things. At least I can prevent suicide, I guess-- but, oh, how timely and how fitting that would be . . .

. . . I did say that I wanted to kill myself because of those. I hope dearly that it does not come to that, but, honestly, when I wake up and I feel like shit, I want to die. When I cannot breathe because of the soreness of my throat and the mucus of my nose . . . it's better to be awake, than asleep, but one must be asleep to enable one's self to be awake . . .

How ironic that would be . . .

( The Nitty-Gritty Details of the Effects on my Body and Eating Habits That I'm Sure You Don't Want to Read So Don't Even Bother )

There's no real clear end in sight. I'm not going to wake up better, and I'm not doing a whole hell of a lot better than I was in the original afflictionatory (yeah, well, I KNOW that's not a word, lol . . . ) days.

Liz and Nate came up yesterday; Liz had vowed to bike up here sometime, and she did. So I attempted to stay awake for her and be entertaining, and, well, it was fun when I wasn't exhausted and had to crawl back into a hole and go to sleep, lol. They ate some of the chicken and stuff there was going to be a ton of if somebody didn't eat, and I actually ate some of the vegetables. I was proud of myself; I actually sat at the dinner table!

I'm still so sorry Nichole and Kristina couldn't come up for the fireworks, and I guess it probably seems unfair that Liz and Nate got to see them and if they were up then Nik and Xie could have come up no problem, too . . . but, God, I can't plan anything. I can't think. I just sort . . . exist, right now. I talk to people online when they speak to me. Other than that, it's pure, unadulterated uselessness.

I hate it.

Here's to hoping that I don't die tomorrow or something . . . the last few minutes kind of scared me, and it's not very goodly-portentious, tomorrow is not . . . but I am, after, a whiner and a drama queen . . . you know, not that the fact that my appendix f*cking exploded and I didn't "notice" for ten days, matters, or anything, lol . . .

When it hurts, it usually means something, for me.