Honestly, I'd rather someone just set my hair on fire.

Did you realize it's Wednesday already? How did that happen? I’m still coming off of my long weekend buzz and here we are, already in the middle of a new week. That’s not the only reason that I haven’t posted yet. It’s more that I’ve been trying to feverishly establish an Internet connection with a paperclip and a whispered prayer. For some reason, our DSL decided to go on holiday and celebrate the troops as well, so much of the weekend was spent in deliberation with the universe, making all sorts of promises that we will not keep if only the Internet would SPEED THE FUCK UP. Which it didn’t. So we just started opening wine, which seemed to solve a lot of the problem.

The weekend didn’t have good beginnings. I spent much of Friday morning with clenched fists, dry mouth and a mutated version of nausea, all because I had to go and get some blood work done. I am officially the most difficult person to gather blood samples from. This does not bode well for me should I ever bring a child into this world as my understanding of pregnancy is that they have to collect blood from you often and in somewhat copious amounts. They might as well have a bed ready for me in that office since I spend at least thirty minutes after getting blood drawn alternately passed out or leaning over a bucket waiting for my organs to be expelled through the force of my vomiting. It’s a really great way to make an impression. I think I would do better with leeches.

Anyways, I drove to the blood letting place, whistling through my cold sweats, clinging desperately to the ten and two position of my steering wheel with such furious angst that I couldn’t even be bothered to turn on the radio. I walked in full of fake bravado, all “LALALA! I’m going to get drained and LIKE IT!” But my crepe-thin façade of cool disintegrated when I saw the 5 vials that were waiting to be filled. The clinician was full of spunk and had some of the most remarkably fuzzy hair I’ve ever seen. I was momentarily distracted, which is perhaps her reason for looking as though she has a nest on her head, who knows. But before she plunged the needle into what she described as my “gorgeous veins!” I stopped her and said, “You know, you’d be wise to have a bucket and a glass of juice at the ready.” She looked at me quizzically and patted my arm, laughingly, “Oh, honey, you’ll be fine.” Which is not what she was saying 2 minutes later. What she was in fact exclaiming was, “Oh, WOW!” and then there was some leaning out of the door and the hollering of, “SOMEONE BRING ME SOME FUCKING JUICE AND A BUCKET!” since I was slumped over in the chair in a manner that would only be appropriate had I actually bled out. But no, 5 vials later I was nearly comatose and, literally, green. Seriously. After I had recovered, she said she wanted to take a picture since she had never seen anyone turn that hue before but felt bad asking given my condition. I’m glad to have been such a landmark patient.

But, you know, I survived. I finally stopped dry heaving about 4 hours later and was able to get on with my day, but really, that’s hard to bounce back from.