Yesterday afternoon as I was getting ready for work, and about half an hour before I had to be there, the stomach greeblies decided to pay me a little visit. It's been some time since they last showed up en masse, and I'd begun to think that maybe they'd gotten tired of the same ol' duodejunilium, and had up and moved on to greener pastures. Or smoother muscles or whatever.
'Tweren't the case though, because they just barged right in and commenced to making noise and breaking things and cuttin' up and being downright ornery. They weren't just kidding around either, because they'd brought their favorite toys with them, and by 2:00 it was party time with knives out.
This doesn't happen very often, and even less often at work, but when it does happen at work I'll invariably turn into a real son-of-a-bitch and take it out on the customers. Which naturally pisses everybody off, because I don't particularly like myself when I'm being an incredible shit heel, and they (the customers, that is) don't deserve or particularly like to be forced into having to deal with one. Pardon my French. Which tends to happen at work when I'm in an especially bad mood, or you know... in the throes of mortal agony.
For two hours, whilst enduring a relentless onslaught of knife-wielding stomach greeblies, I delivered a stalwart cavalcade of mindless, half-intended insults disguised as honest vocabulistics bubbled through gritted teeth to an intermittent procession of occasionally confused, sometimes frightened, mainly oblivious 7-Eleven patrons. It was at some time around then thereabouts that I convinced myself sufficiently that the simple act of standing up at the register was is and has been always and forevermore a minor heroic deed, so I did everybody a favor, except for Chiy (sorry Chiy!), and went home. The heroes journey. Home. Heroes inevitably give up, you know. Just nobody writes about that.
So I stumbled home and kind of deflated into a withered heap onto my bed, on my back. I felt supremely motionless, I felt sweaty and cold, I still felt the knives too, and I felt tired, but mostly I felt relieved. But underneath all of that, under each feeling equally, I felt like a real piece of shiznat for leaving Chiy there to deal with the mudholes I'd stomped into everything... you know. Eventually I fell asleep.
When this kind of thing happens, and at this intensity of pain, I find that if I lie perfectly still on my back, it helps a lot. Usually I'll do this and wind up falling asleep after about an hour, and I'll wake up an hour or two later, sweaty and exhausted, but pain free. That's what happened yesterday afternoon. I finally fell asleep at about 5:00 and slept until 7:00. When I was pretty sure that the pain had gone for good, I got up and sat on the edge of my bed for about 15 minutes. After that I'd decided that I was feeling well enough to give work another go, so off I went.
Anywho, all of that is just a lead up to this thing that happened later, as I was sweeping the parking lot. What happened was, I was sweeping the parking lot...
I gotta get to work, I'll finish this tomorrow.