Hey, guess what?
I woke up this morning, walked into the bathroom, and began to wash my face. This is the usual routine.
What wasn't usual was my fainting.
Fortunately, I know what it feels like to faint, and the feelings that lead up to my fainting (I'll explain in a moment), so I managed to get down onto the ground before I actually blacked out, and I only lost about 30 seconds, maybe less.
What am I going to do about it?
Well, unless it happens again. Because I bet I know the reason why, even though I have no evidence to prove myself right or wrong. This theory is also the one that keeps me from losing the annoying ring-around-the-Laura.
I was sick all last week, as many of you know, and during my time of sickness, I felt so gross that I just stopped eating food. No food. Mom forced me to drink various liquids, and I took hand fulls of colorful OTC cold remedies, and I slept.
During this time, I lost ten whole pounds. This was, perhaps, the only positive aspect of the illness. It was like a cleanse. Laura's toxic food habits were cured. She could start anew, fresh, with a giant cheese-pasta dish courtesy of Biaggis. Mmm...pasta.
But even the pasta was not enough. My body needed to burn fat cells, and in order for that to happen, I have to pass out repeatedly.
See, your body hits this point in which it says, "GIVE ME SUGAR." When many people hit that point, fat cells are torched for fuel. When I arrive at this phase, I drop faster than I did that day in Rome when those pigeons tried to take Ol' Laura down, right before that monk laughed at me, which may or may not have involved his breaking several major vows involving his order, but whatever. It was ridiculous. The cause was sufficient.
Like pigeons are going to take your head off. Really.
Once I've fainted, I must eat. However, chances are, I will then throw up whatever food you give me, so I do the orange juice/chocolate thing until my vision clears and I can stand up without falling down, then I can eat something more solid.
So I crawled up a little at a time from the bathroom floor. I grabbed hold of the sink and stood up, then I trudged over to my bed again, where I waited for the world to stop spinning before I could make it to the kitchen, sit down, wait, then make a PBJ and pour a glass of milk.
Lets just say I was a little late to work this morning.
But the entire event reminded me of the summer when Dad was doing interim work (pastor lingo for temp gig) in Peru. The church wasn't air conditioned, and it was one of the hottest summers I remember. I dropped in that church so many times, the congregation thought I "had the spirit in me," which was totally not true. What was true? My mom dressed me in layers in midsummer, threw me into a steaming nest of my fellow humanity, and gave me no liquid to drink.
The end of this story takes place in North Manchester, at the now-closed public pool. I didn't feel well at all, and so I decided to not swim, a choice supported by my diving coach, who was sick and tired of trying to convince me to go head-first of the diving board when I just kept pointing at the posters on the wall of young girls such as myself snapping their necks like pretzels on the pool floor. No way was I being a pretzel neck. No way.
My act of self preservation resulted in my being left back a level in swim class. Eventually I did it, when the instructor figured out that teaching me the shallow dive and letting me use it on the board would solve her problems and get me out of her life forever, which was certainly her ultimate goal.
No diving that day, though. I felt sick, so Mom shoved a Mars bar at me (where are they now, Mars? Where are they now?) at me and I crunched almonds. Then I told her I needed to sleep, but she wouldn't listen to me because Paul's class was already well underway. No way would she pull him out of the pool and take him home.
They'd all gotten used to Laura's fainting at that point.
She eventually decided that Laura in an unairconditioned humid place was worse than Laura dizzy/fainting/alone in an outdoor humid place, so she tried to take me to the car, but before she knew it, I went down, but first I went rigid like a board and bit her shoulder so hard, it went purple-green in an instant. I listened to The Lion King Soundtrack in my head and looked for Mufasa in the sky (the twinkly lights obscuring my vision, which I confused for stars) until finally they managed to wake me up, shove me in the car, quickly followed by a dripping-wet Paul, and drive me to the doctor's office.
Apparently, I was unconscious for most of the drive. All I cared about was shutting the two of them up. They kept talking, and I wanted a nap. Dang it.
He told me I had low blood sugar and told me to eat a candy bar.
I never stopped.
Unfortunately, now the candy bars are hanging out with the Biaggis and the Olive Garden and the Chilis and the Culvers, and they need to leave. But they won't. Because I pass out every time they try.
I'd like to know how I, while still eating as much or more than the normal human being, can put on weight, but without adding any physical exertion and without changing my diet, I can pass out as if suffering from starvation.
I am not starving. Really. I was starving in junior high, when I grew so fast I could barely walk, it hurt my legs so bad, and I couldn't eat fast enough. But no.
I have to pass out in my bathroom, curled up on the little area rug, thanking my lucky stars that I remember it having been vacuumed in recent history, all because night lasts too long.
Well. If I remain conscious long enough to drive home, I'll write you a little update on my Jen Cardigan, which will give you a good laugh. It comes complete with pictures of me, my scissors, and the 5" I had to take off of each panel...