I woke up yesterday with a bit of a headache. And I woke up late. So, I took a sick day.
It was fabulous.
I napped and knitted and got a massage. Then, Guy With Two Dogs and I went to the movies. We ended up going to the theatre right by Corporate Behemoth … so, I parked in the Corporate Behemoth garage. And walked across Corporate Behemoth property wearing my “I *heart* caulk” t-shirt.
I felt dirty.
We saw Funny People. This movie? Is neither funny nor about people you give two shits about. I did not enjoy it. In fact, it gave me a migraine. A lovely, throbbing migraine that started around my right eyesocket and radiated throughout my entire being.
For reals. Guy With Two Dogs had to drive me home while I tried not to turn my Honda into a vomit comet. So, instead? I cried. I had a migraine caused by a shitty movie and a super nice guy drove me home and took care of my dogs and I cried and had mascara running down my migrained face.
And Guy With Two Dogs wanted to stay for a bit but I made him leave because I knew I was going to barf. So he left and I worshipped the porcelain god. As I was sitting on the edge of the tub, hurling into the john, I looked up and realized that Foxie Doxie and Lil’ Frankfurter we sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. They were studying me, then studying the toilet, then looking at each other. Their glances said without a doubt, “She’s not doing that right. Should we tell her? Should we tell her that it’s supposed to come out the other end?”
And that is how I learned how to vomit and laugh simultaneously. I plan on putting that skill on my resume. Obviously.
And God punished me for taking a mental health day yesterday. Obviously.
But mostly? Mostly, it was difficult letting Guy With Two Dogs be nice to me. Really, really nice to me. While I was crying, he put his arms around me and said, “Cha Cha, I really care about you. I hate seeing you not feeling well, and I want to do whatever I can to make it better.”
And that just made me cry more. I don’t need help. Don’t be nice to me. If you’re nice to me, you’ll just turn into an ass later. Don’t make me let down my guard. Don’t make me truly be myself so that you can then figure out that you hate me, make me crazy, then dump me for either your high school girlfriend or some skank you work with. Don’t tell me I’m wonderful just so you can take it back later. Just don’t.
And that’s the real pain in my head and my heart. Rationally, I know it’s insane and unfair. But emotionally? Well, just don’t.