almost okay

My Dear Lyzako,

The past twenty-four hours have been hell on earth for me. The stomach flu struck with a demon's vengeance early Sunday morning, squeezing my insides from the middle and roughly massaging my internal organs before forcing a torrent of liquid feces from large and small intestine alike. It also cruelly opted to empty my stomach of an ill-advised midnight snack of peanut butter and crackers.

At first I thought I'd be spared the pain and indignity of vomiting, but by my third trip to the bathroom inside twenty minutes I was driving the porcelain bus with gusto, simultaneously greasing my already-soiled underwear as I quickly lost what little control I had left over my bowels.

To add injury to insult, I somehow managed to throw out my trick left knee when I dropped down to vomit and afterwards had to hop on one leg back to bed, unable to put any weight on the joint without a severe and stabbing pain.

The rest of the night and all the following day drew itself down to a painfully drab routine consisting of: Sleep - ten minutes. Hop - one minute. Crap - five minutes. Hop - One minute. Repeat. By the time Sunday was over I was weak, dehydrated, fresh out of clean underwear and had worn the sole out of my right sock.

Since then all I've been able to swallow is yogurt and soup. I've taken on as much water as I can drink, tried to avoid work (as always!) and slept as much as possible, falling out around five this afternoon for my second three-hour nap of the day. Thankfully, several rounds of ice packs have made the knee marginally useful again.

I've been told that this twenty-four-hour bug has been going around, and few of my friends seemed surprised that I would have contracted it so late in the flu season. It seems abnormal to me, though; after all, it's practically summertime.

And since I've been in pain longer than a day, I'd like to know how long this so called 'twenty-four-hour' thing actually lasts, anyway. Forty-eight hours? (Almost a certainty at this point.) Seventy-two? (I sure as shit hope not.)

All I can do is hunker down and sweat it out, I guess. Tonight I managed to eat a fairly large portion of my own vegetable minestrone, thawed from last winter's Sunday cooking. Tomorrow I look forward to solid food again, maybe something fried.

And an Obama win in Pennsylvania!

Cheers and Warm Regards,
Marty Sherman

PS: Since these flu bugs always seem to attack in the middle of the night (can somebody explain why that is?), I've decided to adopt a new rule: No peanut butter after lunch. Ever. No matter how drunk or hungry I am. Just in fucking case. Trust me on that one, brother.