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From Bed to Pot

There have been many times over the past few years when I was 'praying to the porcelain god' asking for her to make..it..stop and promising that alcohol would never again touch my lips.

It has been YEARS, however, since I've been praying to that same god, without a drop of alcohol to blame it on.

Sunday night I went to bed, refreshed from a long weekend in Dublin.

Monday morning I woke up with a power drill touring my intestines.

I spent the day in bed and in the bathroom, only finally waking up about 7:30 to eat some toast.

What made it even more pathetic - or sweet, depending on how you look at it - was that D ended up returning home from work around 11:30 with the same ailment.

Sharing the bed and alternating turns at the toliet. It must be love...right?

Finally getting my feet back, I'm only just feeling better NOW after I had some homemade soup.

Someone asked if a bottle of whiskey was involved. I will say, I wish it was. At least then, it would have been worthwhile.

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