What to do when your tummy hurts and you want to whine about it. . .

As I mentioned yesterday, I am in denial that I have some sort of a stomach bug. I managed to make it through the work day by simply convincing myself that it was the pizza I ate at lunch (even though I had eaten the same pizza the night before without complication.) Despite the fact that my co-workers were urging me to leave out of sheer fear of getting the nastiness themselves, I persevered. (Not because I was concerned about their health. In truth, the mere thought of riding in a car made me sick.)

I hate to be sick. I particularly hate to be sick at my stomach and I tend to have a "take no prisoners" attitude when I have something of this sort. My sure fire cure for illness is denial and distraction, so I set about a plan that was sure to have me well in no time.

I got home all set to knock out some household tasks that had been mounting up. (Step one in my plan to cure myself.) I did accomplish much, but I eventually ended up on the couch, wearing my pajamas and wishing I had my glasses. (I can't watch television without them and my contacts were much too dry to wear, so I resorted to watching it much the way my grandmother did, more hearing it than watching it.)

Knowing that knitting was not going to happen, unless it involved big yarn and big needles, I realized that I had a sad, sad task at hand and as much as I hated it, now was the time: I was going to have to say goodbye to a dear friend, The sweater had to go.

I gently pulled her from my bag, snuggled her to me one last time and started removing the scrap yarn holding her stitches. I tugged and pulled until before me was no longer a knitted item, but two sizeable balls of yarn. It was so very sad, but it was also liberating, thinking that this cushy yarn could be something other than a drapey sweater that I'd never wear; that I could knit something I enjoyed and was proud of instead of a purple blob that I resented. Soon, sweet lavendar will be transformed into a baby blanket. Alas, it may have liberated me, but it didn't cure me.

I then sat and listened to "Dharma & Greg", a sure way to cure a stomach bug that you were denying. I giggled, but alas, it didn't fix what ailed me.

Finally feeling sorry for myself: sick and vision impaired, I contemplated just going to bed, sleeping away the evening. Instead, however, I sat, listened to the television and made some headway on the yoga mat bag. I eventually made my way upstairs and into bed, still feeling sorry for myself and still feeling whiney and sick. Alas, it was more than a 72-hour bug and I had to face facts.

Whining hadn't cured me. Ripping out the sweater didn't do the trick. Poor Dharma didn't pull me from the stomach funk. Might as well sleep it off.