Updates from the Front Lines

This morning I woke up with an intense pain in my stomach. It felt as if I had a very angry chipmunk running amok inside my small intestine. After analyzing the situation I realized that this was probably not the case. I immediately consulted with a nearby medical professional; my mom. She spent a good half a month as a Candy Striper at a local hospital growing up, so I figured if I was to put the future of my digestive tract in any one's hands, she would probably be the best choice. Also her relationship to me means that she doesn't charge me as much as my actual doctor up the street. Here's how the conversation went:

Me: Hey mom, I can't sleep. I'm experiencing sharp pains in my stomach. Please provide me with medical assistance.

Mom: Go back to sleep.

Me: ARGHHHHHHHHH *intense pain followed*

Mom: I guarantee you that it hurt worse when I gave birth to you.

Me: I guarantee you it did not.

Needless to say this did not get me far. Instead I retreated to the relative safety of my bed where I had strange and feverish dreams of rampant bears, waterfalls of Gatorade, a strange picnic where all the food was made out of a delicious cream, and foreboding excerpts from George Bush's State of the Union Address. Strangely enough, those last images were right on the money. It's seems impossible that I could have so accurately predicted a slew of patriotic rhetoric a full day before the speech, but I guarantee you its true.

So it was that I spent all day yesterday cooped up inside of my house confined to a couch with a bad case of the stomach flu. Aside from a few trips to the bathroom to empty my stomach with the sort of honest ferocity that made my envious of anorexic supermodels, I found myself lying on a couch covered with blankets shivering to death as I watched Season 1 of Battlestar Galactica. I kid you not when I say the low point of the day occurred around noon when I found I did not have the strength to get up to insert the next disc to drift through another four episodes of top notch SciFi drama.

Today I again stayed home, but I was not sick. I was still sore from all of the hacking and throwing up stuff and also the fact I ran a half mile a few mornings before in shoes that should not be run a half mile in (or any sort of distance at a pace faster than a mild saunter). However, at about noon I celebrated the one day anniversary of my inability to change the discs in my DVD player my turning off the tv, sitting down and finishing all of my homework. Four intense hours later, I retired to the bathroom where I shaved off my burgeoning mustache, a strange side effect of going five days without shaving. I decided to let the rest grow out, and if I look like Les Stroud by the time I wake up tomorrow, I might just keep it that way.