I accidentally took extra antihistamines at bedtime. This caused my allergies to get better fast enough to wake me up despite the sleepiness side-effect of the meds. Cue sunrise.

I finally got to sleep around 8am. At 1pm, I woke up at pain level 7; my digestive tract had hit the self-destruct button. I camped out in the bathroom making audible "please just kill me" noises. But there was a glimmer of hope.

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Cute Boy Person is the employee of record for the company that hosts a meetup that I help run and the meeting is tonight. A company employee has to stay for the length of the meeting to ensure that we aren't doing anything funny behind security, and he's the guy who does this for us. He has Fled to the Highlands, potentially to avoid having a sensitive chat with me that is obviously necessary, because social anxiety— because social anxiety. He wasn't planning on coming back this week, partly because his best friend is heading his way.

I reminded him yesterday that the meeting was today and he scrambled to find a replacement employee. He didn't find one so he texted me last night that he would be coming back for the meeting. So I may have been camped on the toilet in serious pain, but Cute Boy Person would be around later and we could hang out and have a nice date. (We traditionally have dinner after the meeting; we have for about a decade.) I also have to get to the meeting early to verify that the AV equipment is working and the internet connection is stable, because we have both a new location and a remote speaker tonight. Everything could go wrong, just after business hours.

Cute Boy Person's been my friend for a long time and he's the person most aware of my health issues. He's been helping me test foods, making sure I get out of the house, making sure that I'm having adventures, etc. and he's been doing that for years, because that's how you treat your friends. He's only recently become cute but he's liked me for years. He's a nice guy who never became a Nice Guy.

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So I text him from the toilet that I'm in pain and I think it's from pork fat and then I made a joke about throwing myself off the overpass by my house, since that's what I threatened to do the last time I thought I might be allergic to bacon. (Then I got mad at him for "liking" a Facebook status where I threaten to kill myself over bacon.) It was a joke the first time and I reminded him that it was a joke so he didn't get all panicky. So we talked over text for a while. I just kept telling myself that if I could just hang in there for a few hours, I could take a shower and go hang out with him and have a nice dinner.

I'm sure you see where this is going. At least part of it.

"Oh, I'm not going to make the meeting tonight, which is good because I'm at the car repair shop. [Raging asshole that is an arch-nemesis to every thinking person, who blocked you on Facebook for talking back to him in a less derogatory tone than he uses towards others because 'you aren't allowed to use that tone with me' but who you still have to be polite to in person because he's a defacto programming language spokesman] is going to fill in."

I'm skipping a planning meeting for a feminist hackerspace to go to this meeting tonight and it's an important planning meeting. I'm hungry and I'm afraid to eat because the pain could come back or I could start puking; I shouldn't eat for about 4 more hours. We're having pizza at this meeting and I'm allergic to gluten, the gluten-free pizza from the pizza place, and cheese, so I have to watch people eat a food that I really miss, while acting like nothing's wrong.

I was just trying to make it far enough through the day to fulfill my duties and then have some Cute Boy time, extended by having to show up early to test the facilities. Now, not only do I not get Cute Boy time, I have to smile and be civil to a raging bag of flaccid dildos mixed with viagra for the sake of the group and I can't test the facilities with enough warning to call our AV contact for help.

I am disappoint. And then I had to tell Cute Boy Person that I am disappoint. Now he feels bad. And now I have to gather up my game face and go have a terrible fucking night because responsibility.

I told Cute Boy Person that I'm going but I'd rather get drunk in bed and call the whole day off.