My sister’s beautiful children have unleashed their amoebas on me, resulting in more puke than I can remember ever ejecting. Every 45 minutes, all night long, there was a major gushing. I couldn’t help but laugh between the heaves and pitiful sobs because I know that my family thinks there’s nothing funnier than that noise someone makes as the first wave comes up. Luckily all of those assholes were sleeping while I did my spewing.

If the bathroom wasn’t Kyle-ified, I’d have slept on the cool tile in there instead of making a mad dash from a dead sleep the moment I tasted the pre-puke bile.

Poooooor me. Pooooor, pooooor me.

After an entire day spent sleeping in my sister’s childhood room, I’m finally starting to feel alive. I made a point to pick up the room since the cleared path to the door was starting to annoy me during my frequent trips to the bathroom. Everything’s now in order, and I’m starting to eye a box of Wheat Thins, dangerously aware that eating is just asking for it to be up-chucked.

I’m going to tempt fate. I hope both of our nights are nice and quiet.