Last night, Katie came down to my room because she felt sick. She may have been intentionally sent down by my mother because she possesses psychic abilities and knew what was going to happen, but anyhow. I got her into my bed, and rubbed her back and such. She cuddled down. Then, just as I was going to get up, her face went pale and she sat up, clutching her tummy. Silly me, I thought she was just in pain. I have never been more wrong in my life. As I put my arm around her, she bent over and threw up all over the bed, the floor, herself and me. And my just-washed-that-night doona.

We went and got a towel to try to clean up a bit, and she threw up all over that, too. So, Dwain immediately says, “I’ll go get Mum.” Even though I agreed, because he was looking a little sick himself, in my mind I was thinking, ‘Why?’ You see, my mother doesn’t cope well with vomit. Not at all. So it wasn’t as though she was actually going to come down and clean it up, now was she? Anyway, now my room stinks, and I have to rewash my doona, and it was all a generally yukky experience.

Not as bad as Stephen vomiting first in his doorway and then ACROSS the hallway that one time; there was no wall scrubbing involved in this incident. Still, not nice to have to deal with late at night, either.

In other news, I’m not feeling very well today. I’m pretty sure it’s on account of nerves, alhough why, I couldn’t tell you. Perhaps because I missed a few doses of my meds? I’m not sure. I know that I should be leaving for TAFE right now, in fact should already be there, but I can’t seem to force myself to leave. These type of incidents tend to dishearten me somewhat, as they bring home the fact that I don’t always overcome the anxiety. I usually do, but not always.. and from what I can tell, that’s how it is going to be for my whole life. It’s quite a depressing thought, actually.