The only certainty is bad grammar

So, I got a new job. At Candy Industry Magazine.

I’m going to be an associate editor.

YAY!!!!!

It’s a big change for me, and I think it can best be summed up by one of the interview questions.

Them: Do you know what sunshine journalism is?

Me: When you expose corrupt politicians by shinning light on them?

Them: Um. No. When you write happy stories.

Me: Oh. Yes. THAT. Of course. I love THAT.

My last day at the Northwest Herald is Thursday, Dec. 16. That’s also my little brother’s 21st birthday. (Hi Steve!) Not sure if there’s some sort of metaphor in there, but I feel like there should be.

Perks of the new job include: More money, free candy samples, health insurnace that cost half as much, free candy samples, candy convention trips, a Monday-Friday schedule, and free candy samples. Also, free candy samples.

And for those wondering, yes, of course I am still going to be the youth director at church. Two jobs ain’t nothing for this girl. Also, the job is in Deerfield, and I’m still going to live in Naperville, so my commute is still going to suck. But that’s only because I like to work as far away from my home as I possibly can. Duh.

So, wish me luck, say a prayer for me, and feel free to ask me in a month about new Snicker’s products or what exactly M&Ms was thinking with their new marketing plan.

So, I finally have enough strength to type again.

Barely.

Holy vomit, being sick sucks.

It started hitting me at like 9 a.m. yesterday, but I thought maybe it was all in my head. Maybe I wasn’t sick, maybe I was just stressed, or tired or something stupid.

But then, as the day went on and the only thing I could think about was throwing up, I realized maybe this was the real deal. Finally, at about 2:30 p.m., I went to my boss with tears in my eyes and said I needed to go home.

When I got to said home, I went to change into my pajamas and I was so sick that my skin hurt.

Worst. Feeling. Ever.

How do you even deal with something like all of your skin hurting? Ug. Horrible.

Then, a 100.2-degree fever took over my body. My eyes were hot, my body ached, and I didn’t even have enough strength to turn over in bed.

I also had to focus on taking long, deep breathes to fend off throwing up. The technique worked until about 4 a.m.

That’s when I got up and thought for half a second that maybe I was feeling a little better, and I went in to use the bathroom.

I didn’t leave that bathroom for two hours.

I’d say the lowest point of that two hours was the moment when I was trying to call my roommate on speaker phone to decide if I should go to the emergency room or not, and at the same time I was on the toilet and neon green diarrhea was literally exploding out of my butt, and then I started vomiting neon green puke into a bag.

“Help me” was all I could say into the phone.

I seriously thought I was going to die. On the toilet. While holding a bag of my own vomit.

Yes, I did make her drive all the way here from where she was at (a half hour away) at 6 a.m., only to decide by the time she got here that my stomach had calmed down enough for me to no longer seek medical attention.

In my defense, when you’re in that situation, you never think you’ll get better. I started picturing myself throwing up for the rest of my life, and it was pretty easy for me to decide that I’d rather have someone shoot me dead.

Anyway, short story long, I eventually brushed my teeth, found my way to my pillow and went to sleep. I’ve since eaten some crackers and some peanut butter bread and neither has come back up.

And thus, hope has been restored in my life.