I thought that my last Friday dinner throw up mishap and general malaise last week were the result of birthday weekend over-imbibing, but now I’m not so sure. I called in sick Monday because my head was killing me and felt full of liquid and off and on all week I have been dizzy with head-spinning vertigo, nausea and excessive sweating. It almost feels like the mysterious kind of flu/kind of food poisoning illness I had in Hong Kong during my ruined vacation in December.
Today I tried putting clothes away and swapping my winter duvet for the summer one (I’m pissed that the feathers in the expensive one with individual stitched pockets still managed to squish to all of the edges so the middle is like a flat empty sheet) and started sweating and getting so dizzy and nauseous that I had to lay down, accidentally fell asleep and only woke up because I’d bitten my tongue.
I left work early yesterday and after mentioning not feeling well my boss jokingly speculated if I were pregnant. I emphatically squashed that notion (though it makes me wonder if she might’ve been projecting as she recently got married and before I left, somehow we got on the topic of real estate and she looked up the condo I’m mildly obsessed with in her neighborhood and commented on the number of nearby schools being Yeshivas. It never ever occurs to me to look at the local schools when browsing real estate ads so it led me to think perhaps kids are on her mind, if only subconsciously).
It wasn’t until I got outside and halfway to the subway that I realized I hadn’t gotten my period this week as I was supposed to. (The fun didn't end once I got on the subway–a nice long-haired middle-aged gentleman was enjoying a tittie mag with exaggerated gusto, which isn't a euphemism for masturbating, he just had it spread across his lap taking more room than necessary and making expressions with his mouth like someone practicing vowels aloud.) The possibility of being pregnant is infinitesimally small considering I’ve been pumping myself full of hormones and chemicals for decades and that this is the third time this has happened in 2009 (I’ve never had problems with birth control pills and missed periods before this year) and my gynecologist seemed extremely unconcerned when I brought it up the second time it happened in June (and a home pregnancy test came back negative.) If anything, I’m probably menopausal. It would be fitting with all my semi-hidden gray hair. By 40 I should be good and shriveled up and ready to break my hip.
Of course, this could be one of those late 30s miracle babies that change cranky misanthropic single gals into loving wonderfully fulfilled “best thing that ever happened to me” now I know the meaning of life women. Sorry, zygote, it’s not happening.