I never know what to write about any more. Fortunately, WordPress posts daily and weekly writing prompts on their blog, the Daily Post. I’m going to start taking their advice cause I ain’t know what else to do.

This week’s prompt is: Lunch.

My work gives me nearly two weeks off for Christmas and New Year’s. We leave the office halfway into Christmas Eve and come back on January 2. (Maybe that’s not almost two weeks, I don’t know. I’m not really in the mood to count right now — but if you are, go for it!)

When I got back into the office on the morning of January 2 last year, my day started off poorly. For one, I was wearing a sweater and BOY do I hate sweaters. I know they look nice and they’re warm in the winter, but don’t tell me they don’t suck. They’re so itchy and staticky and if you launder them they turn into belly sweaters and if you don’t launder them, you smell like hot, terrible armpits.

In high school I had a couple of Ralph Lauren sweaters. After months of wearing them without washing, my mom got sick of me smelling like sautéed onions and brought them to the dry cleaner. The day she brought the sweaters home, our old dog/my girl, Halle, pooped out her intestines.

Actually, it just looked like she pooped out her intestines, because she took a poop and something long and organ-like stayed hanging from her b-hole. I brought her in the house and was like, “Mom, I think Halle’s poop organs are loose.” My mom was like, “Yes, it appears so.” She grabbed a paper towel and took hold of Halle’s poop organs and started pulling. The organs stretched out to about three feet before they snapped out from her bootyhole and sprayed poop all over the kitchen. They turned out to be pantyhose, not organs (thankfully), and they got poop on my freshly clean sweaters. And you know what I thought? That’s what you get for wearing Ralph Lauren sweaters, you asshole.

I wore a sweater on January 2, 2013, because I’d been given it for Christmas and I thought it was nice looking. Plus, the zipper on my pants was broken and the sweater covered it up. Of course, within minutes of arriving to my office and settling in in front of the computer, I was itchy, oniony, and pissed that I was wearing an effing sweater. I was also hot and, as a result, thirsty. I reached into my bag for my darling Nalgene water bottle and learned that I had forgotten it at home.

I call my water bottle my Nalliegene, a clever little portmanteau pun of Nalgene and Allie. I once made a “Nalliegene” label with a label maker and put it on my water bottle. Then I took it off, because I take Nalliegene with me everywhere and I didn’t want to share our secret with the world. (So, please forget I ever mentioned Nalliegene.)

Sweatered and thirsty or not, I was at work and still had a duty to perform. I logged into my company’s Twitter account, which I’m responsible for, and got ready to do some hashtagging.

Did you know my niece, Heidi, has magic baby fingers? She steals cell phones, swipes around on the screen, and does things with iPhones I didn’t even know could be done. Turns out that when I saw her over Christmas, Heidi used her magic fingers for accidental baby evil.

I’m always logged into two Twitter accounts on my phone – my own account, and my work’s account. My account is the primary one, but work’s is only a few swipes away. At the time I also had an app on my phone called Cinemagram, which is an app that lets you post looping videos. Heidi somehow managed to post my own, personal video from Cinemagram to the Twitter account of the Catholic college that employs me. It was a looping video of me doing a cartwheel, filmed by my father. You could see my underpants a little bit. The video had been up on Twitter for days.

It was probably about 9am when I made the Twitter discovery. I immediately deleted the tweet and then went through the rest of the timeline, making sure Heidi hadn’t posted anything else. I noticed that I couldn’t really understand any of the words on my computer screen. I thought I was just dizzy from all the inappropriate tweeting and dehydration and sweaters, so I took a quick break and ate the tuna fish sandwich I’d brought for lunch.

By the time I finished my sandwich, it must have been 9:10am. I figured I was calm enough to resume computing, but when I looked at the screen, I still couldn’t make anything out. Do you remember seeing words before you learned how to read? That’s what this felt like, but it was horrifying because I knew I had a good two decades of literacy under my belt.

It looked like there was a zigzag line cutting through my left eye. Out of nowhere, I thought, There’s no way I would recognize Janet Jackson if I saw her right now. And then I knew. I struggled through a text to my mom telling her my symptoms and she confirmed my fears. I had my first migraine.

I tried for maybe ten more minutes to do my job, but it’s impossible to answer emails when you’ve lost the ability to read or type. I told my boss my problem and asked if it was all right if I went home. He asked if I was OK to drive, I said probably because my head didn’t hurt very badly yet and I could make out large shapes just fine. He told me to leave and I did.

My commute is 20 miles and takes half an hour. On the drive home, I started feeling really nauseated. Real bad nauseated. Nasty ass nauseated. Fifteen minutes into my drive I began actively telling myself, “You will not throw up, you will not throw up.”

I threw up. *kanye shrug*

I was five minutes from home when I had to pull over and throw up the tuna fish sandwich I’d had for lunch. Then, when I got home, I spent the remainder of the day throwing up tuna fish and dark green liver fluid (“bile”). Turns out my migraines are much more stomach achy than they are headachy. Who would have known!

Moral of the story: It’s OK to eat lunch before 10am. Just make sure if you’re going to do it, don’t make it tuna fish, and don’t get a migraine. And for the love of god don’t wear a sweater.