Hold on to me tightly, I'm a sliding scale
So I’ve noticed that the worst of my stomach isn’t what I eat, it’s the physical weight of it. So in addition to the food tracking app I use I’ve been weighing everything I eat.
No, I’m not backsliding.
I’m making sure I get enough in me before my gut declares “HAHA FUCK YOU” and puts me out for several hours.
The interesting thing about the tracking app is when I logged on, I got a pop up.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU NEED TO EAT THERE’S LIKE 1200 CALORIES YOU HAVEN’T GOTTEN INTO YOUR SYSTEM TO JUST KEEP ALIVE YOU IDIOT! GO EAT, YOU FOOL!*
*Paraphrasing. Of course an app called My Fitness Pal wouldn’t launch at me like that.
So I’ve very carefully crafted a smaller, lighter version of one of my more famous sandwiches to eat. Not bad on timing: there’s meds coming.
The morning call off was well decided. They may have sent me back to the ER. And I would not have blamed them. The interesting fact I got out of today was that you can drink a 17 oz iced coffee and if you’re going to faint or pass out, it’ll give you just enough time to say “You know, I’ve think I need a second to lie down” but not enough to actually do it right. You thud. Quite inelegantly.
It feels like falling asleep backwards. You went down too fast, and it’s like the blinds are going up but letting in darkness instead. A creeping exhaustion sets in, and you either you panic, or there’s this strange sense of relief.
You don’t come to like you do from sleep. There is nothing but confusion. Where am I? What day? Did I oversleep?
I missed most of my meals in that blank out. But I’m making sure I eat now. My alarms are set and I’m making sure I get my strength back.
Oh… And if y’all DO catch me backsliding, permission to hit me upsides my fool head granted.