So, I had to tempt fate. So, I insisted that S buy me ANOTHER bottle of poison last night. So, I sat and drank it all in one shot – while I was blogging, I might add. So, yes, it was my third attempt this week.
I even took my nighttime meds with a swig. Rebellious, I know.
And it was all A-OK. And then, after reaching my 100+ hits milestone on this blog, I shutdown the blue screen and I raised my rear from the couch. Huge (like my arse) mistake. Catastrophic. Diabolical. Sinful.
Managed to get to the kitchen and then relised this was not going to end well. Hung onto the counter as the third wave of nausea swooshed over me. Strategically planned a graceful retreat through the house – straight to the porcelain oval in the bathroom.
There was no passing GO. There was no collecting $200.oo. There was no dilly-dallying at the Community Chest.
But there was a voluptous amount of vomitting. And heaving. And snorting.
I admit that some may have landed up in my bangs (no time to pull back the hair). I admit that some may have gone down/ or up my nasal passages. I admit that I may have had to clean some splatter off the wall.
Not my finest moment.
Most distressing was that I puked up my sleeping pill. Now the reason I take this is so that my 3 brain cells can stop chafing together long enough , enabling my to actually fall asleep.
There was no rest for the wicked.
I spent the night: –
1) hoping for a headache-free Saturday – which, thankfully, it was;
2) mentally composing this blogpost, as well as the next 17;
3) listening to the 3 cats eating, baling out of windows and scratching for fleas;
4) Wondering if the red velvet cupcakes I baked for Tracy would taste ok; and
5) regretting the fact that we had run out of mouthwash before my little incident.
I have confirmed that 3 is not my lucky number. Whether I have learnt my lesson, remains to be seen.