An hour later you can't sleep, but you have observed that your stomach isn't feeling any better. Any position you lie in makes it feel bad. Not a good sign. So you go get a wastebasket and put it next to your bed, and move possessions away from that spot because it seems the right thing to do, and lie down for another hour.
Fifteen minutes later you get up, grab the wastebasket, and stumble into the bathroom. It can't be that bad, right? Your stomach's sending messages that it's not happy and does not like its contents, but you're probably just tired, it'll put itself back together in another half an hour, you've just got to drink some water and you'll be fine. Just spend five minutes standing over the toilet and if nothing's happened by then, nothing's going to oh god that was dinner.
And so was that.
Ugh. I didn't think I ate that much.
So you rinse your mouth off and try to get a little water inside you, and you grab an old towel and throw it over the part that missed because you're certainly not about to mop the bathroom floor now, and head back to bed because you're exhausted and now your sides hurt and that's got to be the end of it, of course. Just rest and you'll be fine! Certainly you're on the mend now. And an hour later you're back in the bathroom and, oh hey, looks like that wasn't the end of dinner, but that one sure felt like it. Better drink more water if you don't want dry heaves.
More dry heaves, that is.
Now your side hurts too much to go to bed and really rest, but of course what else are you going to do? So you throw on a bathrobe for the warmth (it had seemed oddly cold today, hadn't it. Maybe that should have been a sign.) and go check your email, and maybe write a little.
And then you head back to bed.
See you guys again in an hour.