Apocalyptic Irony

It seems that I have survived the nasty intestinal virus I was plagued with as well as the Mayan NonApocalypse. I didn't think the world was actually coming to an end, except for that late Monday night through Tuesday afternoon span of time. When I was in bed with fever, chills, and an angrily cramping abdominal area that sent me trotting to the bathroom much too often. It seemed entirely fitting, then, when I felt much better yesterday. The Winter Solstice. When the light begins to incrementally creep back into each passing day. I celebrated by putting fresh sheets on my bed and taking a long, hot shower. I also made tuna noodle casserole for dinner, the preferred Solstice, MnA meal. Upon waking this morning, without the slightest shred of nausea accompanying my return to consciousness, I had another celebratory thought. After five days of eating very little and pretty literally pooping my brains out, at least my weekly appointment with the bathroom scale will be pleasant! Ladies and gentlemen, I have gained 2.2 pounds. From this bit of annoying and seemingly impossible news I have come to a conclusion. I was built for the real apocalypse! I have such a sturdy constitution that I can weather all kinds of hardship and not lose body mass! Either that or I ate soooo freaking much last weekend that my bout with angry tummy syndrome was merely a good start on bringing my weight back into check. I'm going to agonize over this for a couple more hours. Then wrap presents. Maybe vacuum. Agonize a little more. Then try to figure out why the pink tree on top of the refrigerator isn't lighting up. One thing is sure. Next Saturday I'll remember to check for excessive belly button lint before my date with the scale. I'm not obsessing. Really.