Sickness and loathing

Yesterday, my stomach decided that it and food could not reside in the same body, regardless of my feelings about the matter. By the end of the day, I felt like both had left me. Today the womanchild is going through the same thing. I'm still feverish, water won't stay down, and beyond that I'm mad at myself. I seem to always get sick when I'm busiest at work, and I don't need to take the time off. I'm not functional now though, and I hate it.

I swear, physical weakness feels like a form of being unreliable to me -- not anybody else's, just my own. I've wondered before, looking at the timing of illnesses and accidents in my life, if sometimes, these are manifestations of my self-saboutage. I wonder why I don't extend the understanding to myself that I would to anyone else. It doesn't bother me that the womanchild is curled up and whimpering between spells in the bathroom, instead of at school, but it does bother me that I'm not in my office preparing for that closing, even though there is backup.

Gah, I think I'm going back to bed, and I'm going to take The Prince of Tides with me. Everyone in that book is more miserable than I am, and the writing is sublime. It came after Naked Lunch in the womanchild's stack of assigned reading, and the thought of any kind of lunch is too much for me now.

illness