Boy, have I been tired over the past week. I mean really, really, can't-keep-my-eyes-open tired. I thought about having myself hospitalized for exhaustion like my good friend Demi Moore, but, honestly, that whole process seems entirely more exhausting than it's worth. Can't I just be exhausted right here in my own bed and not have to go anywhere or explain anything to anyone? Yes? Oh, okay. Phew. Zzzzzzzzz.....
Looking back, I think it was the diarrhea that did me in. I mean, the feverishness sucked and the vomiting blew, but hour after hour, day after day of urgent diarrhea really takes a lot out of a person. Wait, what I mean to say is, it really saps your strength. I don't have a large body of experience around diarrhea, to be honest. Constipation, yes. Vomiting, well, let's just say that if Harvard gave out honorary degrees for that, I'd have a very impressive resume. I kind of thought diarrhea was just an urban legend. Some kind of cruel voodoo joke. It's no joke, people. It's all too real. I don't think anything was metabolized for four full days. Then, on the fifth day, my appetite suddenly came raging back. I tried to be dainty in my portions, but I was literally starving and things didn't go as planned. I imagine my digestive track resembling the narrow Spanish streets of Pamplona, with the bulls playing the role of my lunch, charging down the cobbled avenues goring anything in their path. But further on down the line, all systems were not go. Not by a long shot. Aerial views would show the Spaniards frantically racing away just ahead of the bulls in a confused, chaotic throng, some clinging to lampposts for dear life, others trapped in alleyways, with the vast majority spilling out toward the nearest exit. There may have been blood, I don't know. This analogy got away from me three sentences ago.
I really struggled (if you count struggling as not caring at all and then falling asleep) with how to account for my mounting, explosive calorie losses on my Lose It profile. It seems they don't have a category for persistent, uncontrollable diarrhea in their databases. Someone should contact their webmaster right away! In theory, I was very excited by this potential loophole since I haven't lost any weight since I started my regimen last month. In practice, however, it was too much work to even boot up my computer. Instead, I amused myself by trying to mentally calculate how many hours of sex it would take to burn off a full day's worth of calories so I could make an ironic ballpark substitution. Somehow I arrived at 16,000 hours per day before collapsing into a slumbering heap.
I'm feeling much better now. Things are progressing a little more as nature intended. I did weigh myself a few days ago to find out the impact on my bottom line, and do you want to know how many pounds I lost? Zero pounds. You heard me. Not a single one. My scale is now smashed against a tree in the backyard! I know I probably should have harnessed that day's energy for something more constructive, like a blog post better than this one or maybe a little work on my manuscript. But looking back with the wisdom one gains from perspective and a cooler head, it's clear that motherfucker totally had it coming.
