So. Yeah. That was fun.
Those of you on the Twitthing already know, and probably feel like you know too much. But for everybody else: I got sick. Like, really terribly embarrassingly, what-do-you-MEAN-I-have-to-ride-in-an-elevator-to-get-to-a-bathroom sick.
(Over the weekend, Ezra had one of those mysterious out-of-nowhere barfing incidents, where he just puked up an entire meal and then went on with his life just fine. Flash to 72 hours or so later, and INCUBATION COMPLETE! FULL ADULT-SIZED VIRUS MORPH ACHIEVED! NOW IS THE TIME TO DIE!)
I woke up yesterday feeling...not great, but not terrible. A little off. I blamed a shitty night of sleep, since I woke up multiple times convinced that I'd overslept and missed my 8:30 am presentation, only to look at the clock and see that, no, it's 3:15 am, jackass, simmer down. I tried to eat a bagel and just...couldn't. I blamed this on the fact that it just wasn't a very good bagel, ignoring even more signs that my body was getting ready to revolt.
(I would make a terrible protagonist in a Dan Brown novel, don't you think?)
The rest of the morning was a blur -- the first session went okay, even though I had to toss out all my original talking points and go with more of a "pretend you're explaining Facebook to your mom" approach, and my co-panelist and I were repeatedly tripped up because Facebook keeps MOVING THINGS AROUND and RENAMING THINGS and also decided to reject my dummy account suggestion of "Project Awesome."
Things were...not going so well by my second session (the bagel did not improve on the second showing), though I like to think I put on a good front, turning to Mir right before we were supposed to start talking and quietly requested that she give me five minutes, please. Then I walked calmly to the elevator and back to my room, affixed the Do Not Disturb card to the doorknob before running inside to puke my guts out again.
I brushed my teeth and was back in the conference room in four minutes, where we talked about blogs and why they are important. I mean, without my blog, how would I tell the world every little detail about that time I threw up a lot? WELCOME TO THE FUTURE, EVERYBODY.
I was determined to stay for my last and final session with Susan, even though everybody was staying a good 10 yards away from me and probably hoped I'd take my diseased ass elsewhere already. (One of the conference organizers basically shouted train rebooking options at me from across the room. She was wise.) I had to check out of my own room at noon and had almost two hours to sit in the lobby in abject terror of getting sick in a public restroom. (Because...again, I will write about it on my blog? And Twitter? But the idea of real live human beings being aware that my GI tract was not behaving? OMG I WOULD BE TOTES EMBARRASSED.)
Susan graciously lent me her room key and told me to go lie down on her couch. I passed out cold but arrived at our session on time, though probably with upholstery indents on my face. I said a few things about widgets and then stared really hard at the table the rest of the time because we were in the same room where lunch had been served and oh God, I think it will be better for everybody if I just keep my mouth shut. I held out as long as I could before fleeing, got sick onnnnnne last time (luckily the lobby bathroom was empty. hideously echo-y, but empty.), hailed a cab, bought some Saltines and ginger ale at the train station and prayed to all that was holy to please please please let me get home quickly and incident-free.
Jason and the boys met me at the other end. "You look really pale," he astutely observed.
I'm feeling better today! Kind of. I'm at that point where my brain is all, "Fuck this cracker shit! I want a slice of that leftover pizza!" And then I take a couple bites of pizza and my stomach is all, "Dude. Stop listening to that brain thing. I'm still fully in charge, okay?"
No, I am not pregnant.
I mean it.