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5:28 p.m. - 2004-12-19 Instead, I'm sitting in my chair congratulating myself on making it through an entire half glass of apple juice and ginger ale without puking. Whee. It could be worse, I suppose. One year, my mother and I both got sick on Christmas Eve, were up half the night, and had a very mediocre Christmas Day indeed. While it sucks that I'm missing the party, at least I made it through my concert last night without barfing on anyone - I didn't start to feel gross until I got to Jamie's house afterwards, and I managed to make it to my apartment before getting sick, so at least I didn't have to pull over while driving home or anything. And my mother came to the rescue with some popsicles and some ginger ale and some toilet paper, which we were almost out of in a fit of very bad timing indeed. It's nice to know that she'll look after me when I'm sick even though I don't live with her any more. And my roommate is being very sympathetic, offering to make me soup and showering with the door unlocked in case I needed to make a run for the bathroom. Which I didn't. Which is good, because while we are excellent roommates and good friends that's not a level I particularly want our relationship to be on. Sure, it sucks that I got sick on my only day off this week, but I do have four days off for Christmas, so I think I'll muddle through. I will probably go to work tomorrow if I continue to feel better, and I've got two short shifts this week so it won't be too bad. This is not a very exciting entry, I know. But being sick and feeling gross is not conducive to insightful prose, I'm afraid. But I am working on a whole series of entries about the History of Me and Jamie, which is pretty lengthy given that we've known each other for nearly 12 years, even though he doesn't remember me from the first three. Stay tuned. I promise I won't write any more entries about puking.
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