Last night was one of the worst nights in memory. Something terrible and painful went wrong inside me. It began in the afternoon when I ate leftover spaghetti and then took a nap. I woke up with a sharp, consistent ache in my abdomen that worried me. By dinner, nothing had let up or changed, and then, as the sun went low, everything began to hurt, joints, spine, muscles. I decided to take a leftover Tramadol and try to sleep. Things did not go well. The pain increased and I was up every hour. I drank a glass of water every hour. I have no idea where it went. The pain in my abdomen began to move, though, which I took as a good sign. As always, I had imagined the very worst. I am a Disaster Artist that way. I would sleep for a minute, then the pain would wake me, and I would get up. Over and over and over. The Tramadol was probably not the best idea. The water probably was.
By morning, just a few minutes ago, the pain had subsided greatly. My belly sounds like the tuba and trombone sections of the orchestra warming up before a concert, but as I say, I take that as a better sign. But what the fuck is it?
Don't nap after a big meal is my takeaway. But it couldn't be that.
Lying in the dark, I only wanted to touch toes with my own true love. I thought of emergency rooms and gurneys and hallways with harsh lighting. It seemed an inevitable destiny.
Somehow, though, the thing, whatever it is, appears to be passing. My body trembles with fatigue, however, from lack of sleep. I don't plan on a very productive day. I told my mother I would cook for her tonight, but here in the early morning that doesn't seem to be true. I don't know if I will eat anything at all today. I still don't feel out of the woods.
If you are thinking, "He's such a wank. He cries about everything," you are right. I find life to be a series of inevitable, undeserved cruelties.
I'll go back to bed now and try to sleep a bit. The day looks to be a dull one. Maybe a little gentle music will soothe me.
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