don't get mad, get angry.

i'm angry this week, y'all. like PISSED. why? because. i thought my odd stomach issue was a fluke thing. then i thought maybe it was eating too much fiber and raw veggies. then i thought it was terrible, gut-wrenching heartburn. but when the pains started happening at least twice a week and i found myself hiding out in dark conference rooms on the floor in the fetal position, i decided at that point maybe i was dying so i better see a doctor instead of trying to self-diagnose.

so, safe to say that this some ecard is DEAD ON for me right now:

after getting my blood drawn by a gentle black woman who talked to me all about her 25th birthday party she was planning, and also breathing into a bag so the lab could catch my delicate, sweet breath forever... i was told i have

A MOTHER EFFING STOMACH BACTERIA.

oh and don't you worry - just to be 100% sure this was the only fucked up thing we were dealing with, i also was made to have a sonogram, which honestly upset me because like... i didn't want my first ever look at my insides to be of my upper abdomen. i wanted it to be of a kid. or something.

so now, here i sit, full to the BRIM with antibiotics. and i'm talking the kind of antibiotics that can only be fed to a whale or horse. observe:

i have to take my whale medicine in the morning and then again at night. for two mother porking weeks. TWO WEEKS of my body being totally cleared out of every good and bad thing that lives in it so i can start fresh. do you know what this means?

no spices.

no alcohol.

no sweets.

no veggies, even.

no burritos.

no tacos.

no salsa.

no wine.

nothing but rice, chicken, soup, turkey sandwiches and air. so much air. if you catch me on my "lunch" break sitting and breathing really hard and staring off into space, don't interrupt and be rude. i'm having my meal!

y'all. YA'LL. you don't understand the pure torture of eating bland until you have to eat bland. and especially with this fucking ailment i have happening inside of me, i fear if i even MOVE the wrong way, i will trigger an attack. an "attack" here means: searing upper abdomen pains that cause me to keel over at the waist, not being able to get comfortable whatsoever, having to leave work and go home only to lay in bed with a heating pad and whimper, and in the most extreme cases (which has only happened ONCE, thank the gods), vomiting. basically, when this shit happens, it's like i'm the victim of an incredibly aggravated knife fight OVER AND OVER into my abdomen.

so CLEARLY, eating bland and boring and feeling hungry almost every second of the day since i can't fill up is WORLDS better than dying slow deaths weekly.

stress also tends to trigger these nuclear bombings in my body. so BACK THE FUCK OFF FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS, EVERYONE. I AM ON EDGE AND IF YOU EVEN LOOK AT ME THE WRONG WAY, I WILL EXPLODE (LITERALLY) AND YOU WILL BE THE CAUSE OF IT.

but, seriously, you guys. it sucks. i want so much food. and to go to the gym. but now i am terrified to bounce around in any way (sexual or otherwise) for fear of waking up the monster that lives within my tummy and ruining my day completely. I JUST WANNA LIFT SOME 5'ERS AND SHAPE MY BOD. IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK?!

in this time of bland eating and reflection on all the things i once loved that seem so far away now, i'll show you the two things i wish could happen the most right now.

the first are these:

SLUTTY BROWNIES

cookie dough base. oreo mid-section. brownie to top it off. oh, what's that? you just experienced an orgasm IN your actual mouth just by looking at this food porn? i know. same. that's right. i can orgasm in my mouth... and i do it. a lot. these slutty brownies are the FIRST thing on my agenda of baking the second i am off these antibiotics and feeling back to normal. mark my typings.

the second thing i miss dearly and will be drinking a vat of in the nearish future is:

QUESO, DUH.

and not any fancy recipe, either. just straight up rotel and velveeta. but "HOT" rotel. i don't fuck around with that "mild" crap. give me habaneros and let it rain. i'm gonna eat a pound of chips and the entire bowl of queso and wash it down with more queso and like 8 pacificos. omg. i'm getting so excited writing this. i need to calm down. but more importantly, someone needs to get that piece of BROCCOLI out of that picture. what is a piece of healthy vegetable doing next to a steaming bowl of fat and sex? i'm appalled and confused.

listen. just. cross your fingers i get through this in one piece. please. i already messed up and left my PM antibiotics at the office one night this week and had to drive all the way back after hours to grab them. i was yelling the whole way there. don't blame me. blame the bacteria. it's cold-hearted and a slut. a slutty, stupid bacteria.

godspeed,

emma