I am tired of my stomach giving me problems. I can’t help but feel that it is intricately tied to my stress level, guilt and/or conscience; when things go awry, my stomach is the first thing to flip out.
I drove to Redwood City on Tuesday night to see Colleen and her mom, who was in the hospital. (I was happily re-introduced to her brother, too, who is a very nice person.) We all went to Earl and Lynette’s house for great conversation and a wonderful dinner. It was so nice to see all of them again, and definitely worth the drive.
On the way back, I started feeling the onset of stomach upset. I’m sure this has to do with me eating chicken after I haven’t in a while. (Dumb Halsted. But it was soooooo good.) Then again, maybe it had to do with some weird guilt feelings I had associated with going out on a “school night” – I have been so conditioned against this, from my childhood, that even now I feel vaguely naughty when I do.
Wednesday morning I woke up feeling awful, so I stayed home from work and slept almost the entire day, until the shadows leaked long from the blinds and draped across me and the napping cat. I thought about reading, thought about writing, thought about watching a movie, but nothing fit right.
Thursday after work I went to dinner with a friend of mine who moved to California this week. We had wonderful Thai food and then went to Cold Stone Creamery for dessert. I had cake-batter ice cream, which does, in fact, taste like cake batter. No tummy trouble last night.
This morning before work I received some stressful communications which left my stomach again churning. Work has been okay, the churning has subsided, and the day will improve drastically at quitting time.
My stomach is the faulty barometer of my life.