Sickly

I am so sick. I worshiped the porcelain god nine times last night. I feel way better now, but ohmygosh, the weakness and ache.

Truth: last night, I was grateful for that curious and loving spirit that prompted me to sing primary hymns inside my head while my stomach revolted violently. It wasn’t my thought to kneel beside the bathtub and thank Heavenly Father for my body, this life, and trial. It wasn’t me, with teary eyes and burning mouth, who conjured thoughts of…marriage…husband…future. Who thinks of those things at times like that? I did… it was so eerie and unsummoned. But those thoughts were so real and present. I found myself distracted from current difficulties. Maybe that’s why there were there.

Being inside and sick all day does things to the brain. My roommate just came in and told me that she sat by a bunch of people from the ward. “I had lots of fun,” she said. Bully for you. The worst, sourest, most hurtful part is that she opened with, “guess who I sat by in Devo!” “Ashton,” I whispered. Ding ding ding. I was right. I was home, dying, and she was having a great time with the boy who has caught my eye, the boy who I just bought brownie, caramel, and canned milk for. I’m making this amazing caramel thing that absolutely spells love out in big brown letters. A few minutes later, she says, “And guess what else!” I told her I was afraid of her stories, and that I was suddenly grouchy about the one she told me. “I should have never told you,” she said. So now, I’m the insane, single, irrational, sickly, ugly, fat, hopeless roommate.

I started writing this post happy and contemplative. Now I feel worthless and hopeless. Blast.