I have never thought twice about the fact that I live alone. Mainly because I am hardly ever actually "alone", but the one or two nights that I am in my apartment sans boyfriend, friends, etc, I really do enjoy. Me and the cat, chillin' with the remote. There's nothing quite like it.
Last night, for the first time in the almost year that I've been in my apartment, I was afraid.
Sometime in between going to the gym at lunch, and getting ready for my dinner at Devi, I developed a headache. I feared this headache with every bone in my body, because I've had them before, and they are EVIL. No amount of Advil will quell them. They usually develop after a heavy night of drinking, or as a weird reaction to certain foods (which ones I haven't quite figured out yet), but they almost certainly end up with a violent bout of puking. Quel horreur.
Fruitless downing ibuprofen by the handful, I met some friends for our dinner at Restaurant Devi. Being the genius that I am, I decided that a Ginger Collins (Makers Mark and ginger) would be the antidote I needed to rid myself of the beast inside my skull. I don't think it quite worked, but let me tell you--as an aside--if you like ginger, you GOTTA have the Ginger Collins. You just gotta.
After a delicious meal of chick pea fritters, chicken curry and a cardamom ice cream, with plenty of fluffy naan on the side, I was sated, yet still in pain. Thankfully the night was still young and I was home at the tender hour of 8, and I promptly threw my ass on the couch, remote in hand, cat by my side, and willed the headache to disappear.
Since my powers of persuasion seemed to be off that night, I decided the only way to be at peace was to just go to bed. Gray's Anatomy on Tivo wasn't doing the trick, and I felt too ill to read. So off to bed I went, and I almost thought I was going to get off without a hitch, as my head started to calm itself down.
After a quick chat with Beehive, I drifted off, only to be jolted awake with the BIGGEST pain in my eye socket that I have ever experienced. In addition, I was freezing, to the point of shivering under the covers, and felt dizzy as hell. I got up to make myself some tea, and tried to shower in the attempt to warm myself up...but I knew it was a lost cause, because little by little, I could feel my innards fighting to escape via my esophagus.
*PUKE* oh look, there go the fritters.
*BARF* hmmm...that chicken curry tasted way better on the way down.
*WRETCH* what the hell did I have for lunch that was purple? oh yea. jamba juice.
I thought that this would be the end of it. Puking accomplished. But no. That was only the beginning.
What scared the bejesus out of me was that I was purely and utterly alone, and I felt like I was dying. Which escalated into "what if this is it. what if this is where i stroke out and the cat eats my face off? Who would know? Who would find me? Will Celeste come down in a couple days, looking for some peanut butter, and instead find my dead body, puke covering the floor, my brain exploded all over the bathroom wall?
Which I guess could explain why, after I finally fell asleep somewhere in the early morning, I woke up crying.
Perhaps it is time to get one of those medi-alert bracelets that my 92 yr old grandma used to wear. Am now taking applications for my emergency contact.
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