I felt awful last night. My stomach was doing its best impression of a three year old holding her breath and throwing a tantrum, so I sat up until after midnight looking at vintage dresses on eBay. It got worse when I tried to go to sleep. I set my alarm for 5:30 for my shift at the studio this morning, and laid there for a long time feeling terrible, doing self-reiki, and reconsidering my strategy of yelling at the universe. I was afraid I was going to be violently ill by this morning, but I’m fine.
I am not certain whether Scott is heading to the hospital today. For the past couple of years, and especially the past couple of weeks, we both jump a little when the phone rings. My mom told me that she hyperventilated for eleven years after her mother got sick. I’m really not keen on feeling this way any time there is a catastrophe in either of our families (not that I would even know if one happened on my father’s side). Time to find a better way and give my esophogeal sphincter a break.
