Yesterday before I left for work, I snarfed down a bran muffin from my wife's most recent batch. Before I even left for work there was something rotten in Denmark (if my stomach can be described as Denmark in any way shape or form). Initially, I ignored it. I figured I could soldier through the day and whatever it was would pass. As time passed I grew increasingly less comfortable with the proposition of "toughing it out."
That slight discomfort grew, my skin developed a rather ghostly and sickly pallor and I decided to throw in the towel and head home early.
My boss took one look at me and asked if I was okay to drive home. I replied that thankfully with such a short commute, that shouldn't be an issue.
Unfortunately, the traffic Gods were conspiring against me. It seemed every traffic light I came to had just turned red, forcing me to wait through the entire light cycle before being able to continue my journey home. Meanwhile my stomach was protesting more and more. The pain was near excrutiating, I was lightheaded and the nausea was laying seige to me.
Finally, I made it home. I literally staggered in the door. My wife took one look at me and her face fell. The pain was so intense I had trouble describing to my wife what exactly was going on. After removing my coat and shoes I literally staggered to the upstairs bathroom to re-enact a scene from The Exorcist.
Feeling quite drained from the ordeal I laid down for a nap. And luckily that allowed my body to fight off what was left off the demons that had plagued me all morning.