Owie.

Ugh. My fucking stomach.

For a week now, my stomach has been anything but kind. It's twisted and immoral and awful and all things bad. It feels like a vice is slowly squeezing it shut, making it impossible for me to keep any food in me. Making it impossible for me to stand upright for long periods without discomfort. Making it impossible for me to function.
It's hard to stand at work while pretending that stuff doesn't hurt. It's hard to stock shelves and bustle around like a proper busy bee without cringing. It's hard to admit that something hurts bad enough for me worry.

I fucking hate being sick.

Work is fucking stupid. The DM from toys may only have half a uterus, but she still is PMS grumpy more than half of the time.
Maybe the world has it wrong. Maybe the purpose of female reproductive organs is to make us happy while we're not on the rag. To remove them is the destruction and the ending of all happiness, as we know it. My uterus, ovaries, canals... they're all staying put. I never want to be that miserable.

The feeling in my belly is beginning to arise.

Visitation to the porcelin throne begins in aproximately two minutes.