ish

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. (Is that right? I woke up? Maybe it's "I got out of the wrong side of bed this morning?") Whatever. Everyone knows what it means, anyway.

It's not so much that I'm in a bad mood as that some small things put me in a very bad mood for a few minutes (or, well, hours). Like calling the student loan companies, all three of them and getting:

1. Someone who had no idea and then (after the worst fading in and out, scratchy hold music ever to have been imagined so that I had to hold the phone two feet from my ear and then keep checking if someone had come on the line) a consolidation person who explained that, yes, when you consolidate, you are not, in fact, locking in the current rate (as advertised), but bumping it up 1/8 of a percent. RIGHT. MAKES PERFECT SENSE. Liars.
2. Someone who did not actually understand what I meant when I said, "So a term is a month?" (Because term also appears to be used to describe the total length of repayment.) I finally ended up saying, slowly, "Is a term equal to a month? Term equals month?"
3. Someone who knew what was going on (after hanging up and calling back twice because I could. not. get. a real person - zero was "not a valid selection") but cheerfully informed me that the consolidations I tried to do last summer and the summer before? They have no record of them. I'm now paying interest rates 5% and 2.5% higher than necessary on about $60,000 for my first two years of law school.
   

I got kind of crabby after that. That and the fact that not one of these companies ever sends you a document saying, "This is how much you borrowed. This is the interest rate. This is how much you owe right now." WHICH WOULD BE NICE. But no, the information is buried somewhere.

On to more interesting topics.

Last summer, just before I left Liberia (the night before), I spent a terrible night running to the bathroom with, er, intestinal issues. And then right before I left my room to drive to the airport to get on the plane, I barfed. A lot. Initially, I assumed that I had eaten something bad (like, say, the ice cream from the street vendor? Smart move, that.). I got on the plane and felt better and all was well.

Except... it wasn't. My stomach has never really returned to normal. I feel sick after many a meal, and, not to be too graphic, but visits to the bathroom are always a surprise. (Hey, just be glad you didn't go on the service trip that I went on to Nicaragua in 1999. All 16 of us asked each other, for weeks, "You solid yet?") Every once in a while, I feel the distinct barfing urge and have to sit veeery veeery still for a while to avoid actually doing it.

I've thought of lots of possibilities, including chronic malaria, chronic typhoid, ameobas, worms... All pleasant, I know.

A few minutes ago, I had a BRAINSTORM. My brainstorm was this: when I was seven, I felt sick to my stomach for an entire year. While living in Liberia. What ended it was my mom finally making me eat some yogurt.

I hate yogurt.

But, I had a sudden thought that maybe, just maybe, yogurt might help. After all, both stomach diseases are from Liberia, and both have similar symptoms.

I hate yogurt.

But, I got some out of the fridge, added some hazelnut creamer and two teaspoons of sugar (I hate yogurt and I also hate cooked fruit, so that wasn't a flavor-disguising option).

I hate yogurt.

But, I can plug through three or four bites before the gag reflex kicks in, so I'm working on it. Hey, it worked when I was seven.

(When I was seven? I also thought I was pregnant. I was really worried about it, because I knew you were supposed to be married before you got pregnant, and I wasn't sure how, as a seven-year-old, I was going to be a mom. But I was sure I was pregnant. Needless to say, I did not, at the time, know how babies were made. A few months later, before my sister was born, I heard the whole story, which was a bit of a relief.)