the great pit-stop of 2006

I never really considered myself one of those people who, despite being academically gifted, lacked a certain amount of common sense. However, I can't really stand up for myself when I take a look back at a certain decision I made on New Year's Day. It really was a stroke of brilliance, in the not-so-much-brilliant-as-brilliantly-stupid sort of manner. I had had a nice New Year's - quiet, with friends and not a whole lot of partying, as I was paranoid that I'd get stopped by a police checkpoint at some point on my route back home. I woke up New Year's Day feeling tired, but not more tired than usual.

Throughout the day I started to feel progressively more sick but was trying to will myself better because the GID was fixing a special New Year's Day dinner and I didn't want to disappoint by not being able to attend. (The "GID" stands for Guy I'm Dating. Until I get his permission to use his real name online, I have made up this acronym so that I can talk freely). About an hour before I was to depart, the common sense part of my mind was saying things like "Kelly, you know you feel absolutely horrible and barely able to move about your apartment - how do you think you are going to drive?" to which the stupid part of me replied, "Whatever, I can do it. Shut up. Maybe if you stop harrassing me I'll feel better." So, I get into my car and start to drive. No sooner do I pull out of my apartment complex do I realize that maybe I shouldn't be driving. My common sense says, "Yes, Kelly, I told you this earlier - you are the finest shade of green, your head feels like it's embraced the Iron Mask, you feel like you are going to puke, and the world around you looks unfamiliar. You should turn right back around. Forget the dinner."

My stupid side acknowledged the truth of this feelings, but decided that I could still make the 20 min. drive, if only barely. Although, if I had stopped to think, I would have realized that even if I had barely made it to the GID's apart., I would have left him with a barely comprehensible and sick Kelly - which is not a very nice thing to do. Anyway, so I keep driving and keep praying to God that I will 1. Get over this bridge alive 2. Get to this stoplight alive 3. Get to the next stoplight alive. Then my body couldn't take it anymore. I pulled off into a parking lot, noticed the golden lights of a Hardee's through my panicked haze of illness, and mad-dashed through it's doors, barely making it there in the neck of time.

Hardee's. I think we all know the delights of a Hardee's bathroom. I don't think that I need to describe it. Suffice it to say I was sick, marooned in a Hardee's bathroom, and God employed some angels to keep anybody else from entering. I managed to call a good friend, who came to pick me up and take me home. She and the GID then devised a masterful tag-team venture to get my car back to his place so it wouldn't get towed. Man, am I lucky in my friends.

I've spent the last two days alternating between the couch in my living room and my bed - between realizing that day-time television should be stricken from the records of humanity and sleeping 12 hours at a time (only to wake up feeling un-refreshed). I drank flat soda and ate dry cereal and crackers. The GID was a good GID and brought me medicine and food, and took me to get my car at his place. Driving it home I still didn't feel very good, so I kept someone on the phone with me the whole time.

Now, I've managed to crawl into work. I feel better in some respects, but overall still feel pretty gross. Have a headache the size of . . . well, the size of something big and scary and painful. Tonight I have the first symphony rehearsal of 3 + a concert this week and there is a pool being taken between the various facets of my brain as to whether I will almost pass out in rehearsal again. Maybe I will just sit there and listen. Haven't decided.

Hardee's I thank you for being in the right place at the right time, although when I feel better, perhaps we could talk about your menu choices.