Friday, March 4, 2011

Fear And Bloating

Worked from 10pm last night to 3am this morning, mostly babysitting my database buddies. I was able to work from home though, so it wasn't so bad. Of course, the Jumping Bean thought I was just goofing off, since working and goofing off looks about the same for me. I tried to divide my attention evenly, but a couple times I had to ask JB to repeat himself which irritated him.

"You aren't listening."

"I'm sorry. I'm working. What was that again?"

"I said I feel bloated."

"If I had a dollar every time you said that, I wouldn't be working right now." Oops. Another one of those times I wish I had a TiVo remote for my mouth.

"Thanks for your concern," he pouted as he stomped off to bed, muttering something about how I'll be sorry when he's dead. Presumably from whatever is bloating him. He was still throwing attitude this morning. I suspect he'll be fine when I meet him tonight at our favorite Mexican restaurant. Which means at least three more bucks before bedtime.

I should take the MCATs with all I've learned being married to a hypochondriac. Then again, if I felt bloated, I'd probably jump right to clostridium difficile colitis and obsess about it until I had a proper stool.

Actually, the JB's been relatively miserable since returning from Joe's birthday week in Germany. I know the feeling from the few times I've come back from Oktoberfest. The gallons of beer and rich food along with irregular sleep and air travel conspire to accomplish what all of Charlie Sheen's interventionists never could/will. A temporary period of abstinence, self-control and adjustment of priorities.

And just in time for Lent.

Come to think of it, I'm not feeling so
good myself. God, I hope it not my
liver. Or pancreas.

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