That seems so surreal to me. It’s not that much past six weeks, really, but…never been here, or anywhere that’s felt even remotely like the same area code as here before, so ZOMG EIGHT WEEKS!!!!!eleventeen11!
I threw up last night…er, this morning? Whatever 3 am counts as. Yay for puking. Only slept for maybe ninety minutes, five to six thirtyish or so, though, so that’s not ideal. I should be exhausted but the nausea keeps me from falling asleep; it’s charmingly annoying. I think I ate more than half a sleeve of (unsalted) saltines in the hours between midnight and four am. Not sure what set it off – maybe the metformin/prenatal vitamin combo, but I’m sadly more suspicious of the garlic in the risotto we had for dinner. It was sooo delicious at the time, I was sad that I was full after two helpings, and it wasn’t even that garlicky, really. But the residual smell in the kitchen even an hour or two later was not pleasant ‘tall.
I think that counts as an aversion. Yay again for something so freakishly normal. Never thought it would be garlic, which I’m normally very partial to, but I am not complaining. However, if I don’t manage to nap soon I’m going to feel like I shouldn’t have called in sick to work…though something tells me I’d be pushing a meltdown to go in on ninety minutes of sleep. I think that calls for a mental health day (and hopefully a Frankie/LSP health day, too). I did leave my ginger snaps there though. That was a fail.
Goal: pass the fuck out already.