RJ Bachler (arjei) wrote,
RJ Bachler

  • Mood:

Oh Kohler, God of Porcelain, please accept my humble offering.... *Urp*

Story: I went to work, nothing really wrong with me. About a half-hour in, my gut decides that it's going to compete in the 2004 Summer Games as a gymnast and to start training right that damned second. It progressively (Or is it the opposite of progressive?) gets worse to the point where I call someone in to cover what's left of my shift and go home. (Which, BTW, the person who covered for me commented on how yellow I looked. Not green, not pale, YELLOW.)

Get home, sleep for a couple hours. Get up, digestive track thinks that it was a bad idea for me to sleep and that I should be punished.

One techno-color yawn later I find out, for the dozenth time in my life in a way that does not need any repeating after that first time, that food and drink are meant to be enjoyed separately and in one way, (going down) but that really doesn't matter when you have to do a mass exodus of the innards.

Projects: CFC edits and I've mp3s - ON HOLD. (Until I can hold something down.)

Now excuse me while I lose what's left of the contents of my stomache. -_-
Tags: pain

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