2015 left as I hunched over a trash can in my room.
It really must be something I ate. I have crepes to serve and fireworks to manage and teenagers to chaperone . . .
2016 arrived and I was once again . . . indisposed.
I slept through fireworks and the crepe breakfast that followed the midnight countdown.
I made a trip down the hall to the laundry room as teens were being shepherded home at 2 am.
No one took pictures. Someone else set up breakfast. The teens cleaned the kitchen--all while I shivered under not enough blankets and calculated if I had enough time to make it to the bathroom or use the bucket next to the bed.
I spent almost the entire first day of 2016 floating in and out of consciousness in my room. Brad brought me the rose from one of his bushes, but I don't remember him being in the room. Kids wandered in and out, asking if I was feeling better. Sometimes I had the energy to answer them. Sometimes I didn't.
Now it's the first night of 2016, and I haven't accomplished much of anything I'd decided to do. I can't tell if I'm feeling well or just better because I haven't thrown up in hours.
Frankly, none of it matters, because I have to fly to Idaho tomorrow--Heidi is being induced with her baby first thing, and I have to be well. If not . . .
I don't even want to go there.
Happy New Year, everyone. It's got to get easier from this, right?