Cerebral Vomit

I usually try to make my posts cohesive. But this, well, this is going to be everywhere. So deal.

First of all, I would like to talk about how painful it is for me to get in cars as of late. Especially my father-in-law’s. I seem to have developed some sort of debilitating car-sickness, and it’s getting worse, not better. Thanks to Missa, I’ve found that wearing sunglasses helps, even if it’s already dark outside.

Also, positive self-talk helps. Example: Ooooooh, I love feeling sick. I love this nausea in my head and stomach that radiates down to the very tips of my toes. I love it, I need it, I want it, I asked for it. Oh baby, oh baby. (Try it. It helps. Mind over matter, you see.) And yes, I seem to even get car sick when I’m driving! So last night on my way home from rolling, (translation: bowling) I got sick. My in-law’s car possesses some sort of evil power (in the form of a seat protector spray) that brings bile (and Boost) to my throat with every jaunt in the vehicle. Last night, I rolled down the window of the front seat and stuck my entire head out, panting like a Pekingese. And it ruined me for the rest of the night. Even saltines and blue Gatorade couldn’t tame the tidal waves in my stomach. But, turns out I do have a stomach of steel, and I didn’t throw up. Think about how bad that would be with a tube. Are you all thinking this? Picturing it? Yeah, gross. I know.

I’m bored busy today at work. Piles of contracts, emails, spreadsheets, gross. And car-sickness. Why do I feel car sick?

Last night I was a bit ^high on sleepiness and benzoes. Our curtains were not on our windows, because we had just gotten new windows installed that day, and they still had work that needed to be done. Apparently I asked Brandon if there were any Thomas Peepers around. Peeping Toms, I meant. I think. Apparently I also had a problem pulling my pants up. But I don’t want to talk about it.

Also: My cats are getting fatter. I’m still in denial about Hairy. For the last time, she’s not fat, she’s fluffy! Working off cat fat is really hard. Bobbi and I did it a couple years ago. It took months to work off all the depression weight she put on when I left her to go to treatment. She put it all back on, though, when I birthed Small Man. What should I do?? I’m worried about future heart conditions.

Note to self: never eat salt-water taffy with tubification. Or Gushers.
Also, I think my body has embarked cheerfully on a quest to digest this sucka. I wonder how many calories a tube has?

I’ve also recently noticed as a tube-face that delivery people: mailmen, FedEx or UPS guys, pizza delivery guys…none of these people possess any sort of sensitivity when it comes to my tube. FedEx Man peered at my face inquisitively yesterday, then said: “Is that some sort of medical device taped to your face?” No, it’s a blue tooth, Genius. Go back to your deliveries now. SkyMail Dude walked in just as I was typing this, and he asked me if I had Crohn’s Disease. I said yes.
Btw: What’s Crohn’s Disease?

I feel like such a reject. But at the same time, everybody loves me with this tube. They all feel so bad for me and smile so big, like their cheesy grins are going to get me better. Also, pesky sales people stay away from me. Something ‘bout the tube, it scares them off. Now that’s a perk I love!

So, in conclusion, and just so you all have gotten this straight: I am a ^high, car-sick Pekingese who has fat cats, a tube, and have recently discovered that salt-water taffy and delivery men don’t mesh with my tubaliscousness. The end.