After an already craptacular morning, I'm in bed now with a garbage can next to me. I was getting ready for bed, and all of a sudden I felt so nauseous I almost fell over. It's a hot pink garbage can, but it doesn't make me feel any better!
Huhhhhhhhhh. I'll be fine.
The Gravol will kick in, I'll have a few gold fishes so I can take my sinus meds, finish some Greys, and then go back to bed. And I still believe that I could feel better, when I wake up and try all over again tomorrow.
I do! Strangely enough, I keep hoping and trying to remain optimistic. But I mean, I have to! I have to keep pushing through. I have to hold on and keep trying.
Because there WILL be a day when I'll wake up feeling...nothing worth noting, and I'll get out of bed and get ready to go out and work my semi-enjoyable full-time job. And at the end of the day I'll come home to make dinner with Nolan in our own kitchen, and we'll eat on the couch watching TV and then have some superb sex! Or maybe sex before, because I don't enjoy full-tummy sex. We will clean up the kitchen, pack our lunches for the next day, maybe have a shower, and then get into our big cozy bed where we'll laugh, and fall asleep to the TV. And nowhere a long the way, will I need to stop and take notice of how shitty I feel. I'll have a good sleep, next to the man I love, and I'll wake up feeling just fine again the next day.
I know it. I have to know it! That one day, I'll be just fine.
And until then? Huhhhhh... I'll just keep trying to push through it and keep hanging on.
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