Ick. My temperature went back up last night, and this morning it was down in the 97s again, almost normal. I don’t know what it is tonight (don’t have the energy to take it), but I’m exhausted just from grocery shopping and don’t even have the energy to cook dinner. Poor Frank, he’s been living on Amy’s Organics meals the last two days. First I thought I’d make a pizza tonight. While I was grocery shopping and my sexy husband was getting his sexy hair cut in most sexy fashion (those Wal-Mart hair salon peeps do a really good job with his hair!), I realized I was starrrrrrving. Weird, because I’d had a big bowl of soup not five hours earlier. So while I finished the grocery shopping, I decided I’d make chicken tostadas instead, and Frank said he would never complain about chicken tostadas, because he loves them almost as much as he loves me. And then I was too weak to go through the line when I was all done with the shopping, so Frank had to check out while I sat on a bench and felt completely awful. BTW, WHY does Wal-Mart put Six-Flags-grade trashcans (i.e., they smell like throw-up) right next to their benches? Yuck.
Anyway, we had Larabars on the way home, and that made me feel better, so I thought I might be able to cook by about 8:30. At 8:30 I told Frank he should go ahead and have some Amy’s Mattar Paneer for dinner (it’s his favorite). Since 7:30, I’d been snacking on Fiery Habanero Doritos and Wal-Mart’s Indulgent Trail Mix (which is so yummy). And as soon as Frank pulled his Mattar Paneer out of the microwave, the smell made me absolutely nauseated. Meaning I ran to the powder room to make sure I had a place to throw up if needed. I wretched a few times, then I burped a lot (you wanted to know, admit it!), and I didn’t throw up, but I even had to come to the den to type this blog entry just to get away from the most nauseous smell ever. And I love the smell of Mattar Paneer, even in the freezer-food variety.
Hopefully, Frank won’t talk on the phone long and will take his tray right to the trash when he’s done eating and take the whole kitchen trash to the garage so I can make it through the evening without barfing all over the rent house.
Oh, here’s a convo for you:
SARAHK: Sweetie, when you get your food, will you also grab my glasses from the powder room [which is right next to the kitchen]? I left them on the sink so I could hold my head over the toilet.
FRANK J.: Sure. [I couldn't see him.] Rowdi, come here! Good girl! Now take these to Mommy! No, take them… Good girl!
SARAHK: You can’t give the dog my glasses! Stop it, get them back from her!
FRANK J.: Good girl!
SARAHK: You can’t put those in her mouth! She’ll slobber all over them!
FRANK J.: Now take ‘em to Mommy, Rowdi! Good girl…
SARAHK: YOU CAN’T PUT A $200 PAIR OF GLASSES IN THE DOG’S MOUTH!
This is when I swung around the corner and saw my husband cracking up. Rowdi was running along beside him, and he was holding the glasses, laughing, telling me he never gave her the glasses. What a butthead!
Anyway, I feel like crapola. My mom says Pappy has the same thing (fever, headache, no cough, no runny or stuffy nose, no stomach problems), and my step-sis had the same thing this week.
Ugh. I hope to be better soon. I don’t like feeling like I don’t even have the energy to go up to the reading room and stare at the sunset (which was most spectacular today, if you were wondering).