Wednesday, April 10, 2013

The glamorous life.

There are times when I wonder where things went horribly wrong in my life. 

Here's what happened...

I had a pretty good day at work.  There was a minimal amount of drama, considering some of the drama queens that I work with.  That's always a good thing.  It was absolutely gorgeous outside and I spent all day, itching to get out and enjoy the sunshine. 

When I got off work, I loaded up the dogs and took them to the local trail for a little hike.  They were only somewhat unruly.  It's all relative for them.  If they aren't eating underwear or destroying the couch, I consider it a good day. 

We started off and the little one starts barking at another dog.  Her tiny, piercingly shrill bark is more annoying than intimidating, but she feels very mighty in the moment. 

I let her have her thrill and then we started on the trail.  After about 5 steps in, the big one squats and unloads.  Oh boy.  Then the little one squats and walks as she unloads, leaving a little trail of poop for me to scoop.  She just can't make it easy for me. 

As I'm getting my pooper scooper bag out, the little one starts to twiddle and twist, tangling me up in the leashes.  I'm trying to maintain my balance while also yelling at the big one to stop eating his pile of poop.  Just as I bend over to scoop, a pack of cyclists rides by to enjoy the view. 


Rather than carry the stinking bag of poop on the trail, I sit it on the bumper of my Jeep.  This particular site has no trash cans so you have to carry in and carry out all of your garbage. 

We continue on the trail.  As we are nearing the end of the trail, my head starts to rebel.  The Beast (aka migraine) is making his move.  I try to fight off the bastard, but it's futile.  We finish the trail and I manage to get us home safely without having to pull over and barf. 

It was close, people.  Too close. 

I get home and manage to get the dogs in their pens before having to make a mad dash for the bathroom.  It wasn't pretty.  The vomiting lasting for the next 6 hours.  After the first few episodes, my stomach was empty.  I basically spent the night retching uncontrollably and praying for it to stop.

If you've never experienced a migraine, you should know that it essentially takes over your entire being.  It renders you incapable of doing anything.  It holds you in it's clutches until it decides to let you go.  Sometimes the meds work and you can gain control quickly. 

This was not such a night for me.  The Beast had me and I just had to ride it out.  I couldn't think clearly, couldn't form a coherent sentence, couldn't walk without stumbling.  My body was exhausted but I couldn't rest until the retching stopped.   I was basically a zombie, crying on my bathroom floor for relief. 

In the midst of all of this, there were small moments of clarity.  During one of those moments, I was able to let the dogs out to pee.  During another, I remembered that the trash was being picked up the next morning.


There was no way I could avoid this chore since our recycling bin was already overflowing and my dear hubby was at work.  I had no  choice but to put a bra on, febreze away the barfy smell and wheel the garbage to the curb.  As I'm doing this, I'm praying that I don't have to stop and vomit on the lawn. 

I already have a tenuous relationship with my neighbors.  I'm pretty sure barfing on the lawn would put me on the outs. 

While I'm going back for the second garbage can, I happen to notice something sitting on my bumper. 


Literally, shit.  As The Beast attacked, I completely forgot about the little bag of dog poop I had put on my bumper. 

I guess I should be thankful that I found it when I did.  That could be an awkward thing to explain at work.  Or to the police when there was a 5 car pile up on the interstate because someone got a projectile bag of poop in their windshield and couldn't recover properly. 

So, my plan to enjoy a little sunshine turned into an evening filled with barf, poop and garbage. 

Nothing but the good life for me. 

1 comment:

  1. Quite the rock star life.

    I remember my Dad getting one of his migraines and literally crawling on his hands and knees to the car to be driven to the hospital for some sort of shot that helped. They sound absolutely wretched.


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