four days I will remember in hell (shout out to Mitch Albom)

I was sick yesterday. Wait. Yesterday, the day before, the day before that, and the day before the day before that. For four days. Since I don't really like recollecting horrible memories of my life, it is safe to say that it was the most horrendous four days I've ever had. Horrible!

On the day before the day before that (let's call this TDBTDBT from now on, alright?), I ate a squid. It was my mum's. Not my mum's my mum's, but my mum brought it home from her trip to some beach (No, she wasn't affected by the tidal waves). By the time I finished eating its head (I eat squid heads first) and all its tentacles (right. yum!) I suddenly felt nauseous and was ready to call it quits with my food. It was only one-third of my meal, so it was a very unusual of me.

I spent the rest of TDBTDBT feeling nauseous. And lost my appetite (again, a very unusual of me). And very weak and don't feel like playing energizer bunny.

On the day before that, I still have a hint of stomach nausea. I still lost my appetite, but I wasn't as weak. I worked normally and planned to go to the gym after work, eventhough I still got that thing rhymes with polka dots. But for BodyBalance, I would do anything, baby.

But (in a spirit of the premiere of At World's End) ahoy! I was already on a bus when the nauseating feeling started to kick in harder than TDBTDBT. I asked myself whether I could survive the ride home without being sick.

The night was horrible. I couldn't sleep longer than 50 minutes. Every other hour I was awaken to visit a place, where people usually secretly smoke, got their inspiration, meditate, read a newspaper or a book on it. So it wasn't tea or a mixture between tacos and Space Mountain, but I got horrible polka dots regardless.

On the day before, I can only lie down on my bed. Well, OK. I got up like watching American Idol, or getting myself some drinks, or things like that, but mostly I just lay down. I mean how could I? Everything I chugged and swallowed went out again from either where it came in or where it was supposed to go out.

You know that movie Chasing Amy? Yeah, I felt exactly like Lauren when she was called finger cuffs. I mean not feel like Lauren feel like that, but I felt like being used on both ends.

I spent the rest of the afternoon either listening to the rumbles of world war that was happening in my stomach or worrying when will be the next time that nature calls or whether the night will be as horrible as on the day before that or thinking that should I later on go to a doctor, he/she may ask,

"Can you describe your faeces, please?",

and all I can do is looking weirdly defensive to his/her face and say, "Of course I can't, you sick. I'm the type of person who defecates exactly like if I'm donating: I don't think about or look at it afterwards!"

So yesterday, I woke up with a relieve. I slept uninterrupted. Eventhough the polka dots were still there, it came and went as randomly seldom as Transjakarta buses corridor IV and up. I had the desire to eat. And most importantly, I couldn't hold the temptation of singing with Beyoncé again. Yeah, Listen. Minus any signature choreography, though.

After lunch I decided that I was strong enough to go to the gym ONLY to do BodyBalance, not my whole workout regime. So I went to the gym, had one of the best BodyBalance class ever (eventhough the Pilates part still successfully killed me). And only because I thought that the sweats that I always produce when I'm doing Sun Salutation did their so called detoxification, I suddenly felt strong enough to workout. And on one-third of the workout, I put full gear on, and didn't feel weak.

All and all, what makes it so horrible is actually when I stepped on the scale today and witness that ..

.. I LOST FOUR FUCKING KILOGRAMS!!!

I know now what I have to do today. It's eat, eat and eat some more. Oh, and also visit the mosque. Since I no longer have the excuse to miss Friday prayer today.

Have a nice weekend..