Ow. Vomit. Repeat.

God. Damn. I'm waiting for tomorrow to see what fresh hell it will bring. Swarm of locusts? Herpes? WHAT?
Sorry. I'll write more tomorrow. Right now I have to finish reading an Ibsen play and finish my dessert of Jell-O. Dinner was a generous bowl of... plain chicken broth. Tomorrow I get to have solids again. And what a feast it will be, from the main course of white rice to the dessert course of some "easy to digest foods like apple sauce", all expertly complimented by "clear, easy to digest juices like apple juice". Double the apple, double the flavour has always been my motto. Well, anything to reduce vomiting.

I also have to take my super cute and much adored boots back to the store. Oh, my darling Fluevogs, black and tan of sole and brown of leather, a twist on the classic engineer boot with brio- why must you hurt me so? You see, sometimes, stupid, stupid people will try on boots they really want, and find out that they are very close to fitting, and yet seem somehow- off. And these same people would have had an earlier experience in the day where another pair of boots, the historic Fryes, looked like ass on their feet, for she apparently has a high instep as the shoe salesperson said. What the shoe salesperson did not say is that she also has fatty fatty monster calves*, but anyway. So, she will try and tell herself that some of her favorite shoes, from the ugly but comfortable Blundstones to my very favorite heels, were tight in the beginning but, being leather, they stretched. In fact, since the last pair of shoes were bought at the very same store, clearly this bodes well. She will even ignore the adorable pair of heels that fit well and buy these instead, even though this stupid person has money for neither. And this fairy tale will end with all of the stupid people getting gigantic, pillow-like blisters stretching across their heels, throbbing rhythmically as they try to read Russian history. It doesn't help that our library looks like a gulag, adding to the whole "Eau de la Torture" that wafted about the proceedings. Hooray.

Tomorrow will be better. I insist on it!

*Note: I don't usually think of my calves as fatty fatty monster. If I'm not trying on boots, I don't even notice them, much less mind them. In fact, I rather like the earthen solidity. And the weird diet regime is illness related, not some sort of wacky diet. I like my (meant and cheese) solids.