So I'm almost ending my shift on Monday ready for my two days off when it hits me. My stomach hurts like hell. My bile is rising. I know what's coming and I don't want to make a mess. Although truth be told if I was gonna barf, it'd be nice to barf all over the workplace to shock and fuck with people, but that was the last thing in my mind. I wouldn't mind doing that, but for the fact that I had to drive home and that was not a pretty prospect.
So I talk to my boss, he lets me go, I get my things and get the fuck outta Dodge. I drive and my full blown paranoia sets in. I don't want to puke while driving. So I drive as fast and as carefully as I can. Not much traffic at midnight so I make it home. I gather my supplies and wait for it. Gaviscon, Pepto Bismol. A bucket and mop just in case. I try to lie down but my stomach won't let me. Pain is coming, I want to puke but my body won't let me just yet. Then.........
I look and felt like Linda Blair in the Exorcist. Messy shit but at least it's all on the right place. After puking my guts off, I down some Gaviscon and it's working finally. The mess in the stomach settles down and things get quiet enough for me to.......
Then I had a case of the runs. It's cool. I can handle those. It keeps me up all night but It's nothing to worry about. Take care of those. Wait till the sun rises. I drink enough water to avoid dehydration. I go to bed and try to sleep. Of course, I never sleep so here I am writing. I'm much better and now at least I can eat something. Supposedly I'm getting the money I'm owed from the bank tomorrow. Fingers crossed. Cancelled my appointment with the dentist until next week and I have to set up an appointment with my other Dr. to take care of my blood sugar levels.

Gross, wasn't it?