...which, out of consideration for sensitive folks, I will do my best to explain in paraphrase wherever possible.
About an hour ago, I began to feel, as one feels a thunderstorm brewing in the far distance, that my stomach was going to cause me some problems. I was just about to fix some dinner, to be followed, maybe, with a good belt (or two, or more) of Mr Beam's Golden Elixir. It's been that kind of day.
Plans changed. Instead of a meal, I went for some soup, which as of now remains in my tum.
But, as is always true of me in such situations, I also developed a craving. For ginger ale.
And that craving was just like almost everything else these days. It brought with it a severe pang of loneliness.
And that made me think of a much happier time in my life, a winter night when I was lying on a lovely woman's bed in a highly perspirational state, unwilling to get up except when more urgent needs drove me toward the bathroom. Said woman tried all the normal nursing options -- the damp washcloth, the holding of hands, the sympathetic sounds -- and then, seeing that they weren't getting the job done, asked if there was anything else she could do.
I wanted then what I wanted now: ginger ale.
So she put on her coat and drove off -- in the snow, just to make it more of a sacrifice -- to find a late-night store. She returned with a nice big bottle of Vernor's which, along with her other ministrations, helped quell the riot in my nether regions.
Strange to think of a time when one is sick as a "happier" time. But when you have someone around who cares for you, even digestive distress is one heck of a lot easier to bear.
Fortunately, the local market is only two blocks away, I wasn't sure I could make it there and back without mishap. I did, but it wasn't easy.
The forebodings remain. Another sleepless night seems assured. There's no way of knowing if having a loving companion nearby would make matters better, but of course I'm certain it would.
At least I have a plastic wastebasket next to my bed....
9 hours ago