The up-side to spending most of the weekend in bed, sucking down 7-Up and crunching saltines?
Scale says I’m down to 214 this morning.
Sadly, that’s a hell of a way to lose. I slept most of Sunday, getting up only to go to the bathroom — and once to crawl into the kitchen to nuke a can of chicken noodle soup, which was eaten with — you guessed it — more saltines.
Saturday, I woke up with a killer case of gas. But then I went to the bathroom and felt fine. Took myself to see”Mud” — and probably should have known all was not fine when I got too woozy to stand in line for a drink at the concession stand.
I was fine while sitting in the theater, but getting up to leave had me breaking out in a cold sweat. When I finally made it to the car, I knew Frappuccino Happy Hour was out of the question.
I drove straight home and proceeded to feel too crappy to get out of the car. Eventually, I threw up by the side of the car and sat in the driver’s seat, too weak to walk into the house.
I hung out in the car until the sun started to go down ( for a 1p.m. movie, mind you), then dragged myself inside and collapsed on the couch. There I stayed until about 11, when I found the crackers and hauled myself to bed.
Being sick is no fun. If I knew what I ate to make me miserable, I would 100% never eat it again.