In which I’m feeling the effects of mind over matter.

God, I feel like ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag.

This morning I got up, showered, dressed, and then sat at the table and ate a BLT with fake bacon. It was delicious.

When I finished eating, I pulled a bunch of stuff out of the fridge and started packing my lunch for the day. The window showed a clear day with blue skies, and the thermometer was at eighty degrees.

Bindu puked on the living room rug. G’ma called her – with the intention of letting her go outside to finish – and she came across the house to the back door, hunched over and clearly not feeling well.

As we approached her to let her out, she started scrambling on the linoleum as if on ice, and then bailed into G’ma’s bedroom. Panic hormones EXPLODED in my body. I followed her in, she was in distress. I called her name, approached her, she fell over, panting.

I petted her: she was breathing and had a steady heart beat ohgodohgodohthankGod but I thought her tongue looked white. G’ma asked if we needed to go to the vet. I said yes and broke for the kitchen to throw my food back into the fridge while G’ma dressed.

By the time G’ma stood with her keys in her hand, Bindu seemed fine. I cleaned up the puddle on the living room rug: she’d puked up a feminine hygiene pad. I don’t know where she got it; I don’t know if it came out of our own garbage or if she found it somewhere else. (We live on an alley full of garbage cans, and she’s a crafty old blue bitch.)

She continued to seem fine. I texted Teh BF for a ride to work, he said he’d swing by and pick us up. I gathered my things for work, then walked Bindu down the alley. She wiggled, she peed, she pooped, she sniffed things.

We waited on the porch for our ride. My whole physiology was a mess: my skin hurt and I was way beyond stressed out, but the dog seemed fine. Frisky, even.

At work, Bindu produced two more puddles of dog puke that I had to clean up with paper towels while on the phone teching a DSL customer. I poured myself a huge glass of water (on the theory that it would help me flush out the stress hormones) but I have only managed to drink half of it.

Right now, Bindu’s lying on the floor near my desk and seems perfectly normal. On the other hand, I feel nearly sick from fear and worry.

I know that nothing has happened to me that isn’t purely intellectual, but I feel freaking awful. My body literally aches. I keep watching her and thinking her behavior is off even though I can see that it’s not. I’m so stressed that the A/C has me shivering. It’s stupid.

I can’t even decide if I should call the vet. KJ thinks she seems fine, she’s acting like she always does, and I can’t even count the number of pads she’s eaten and puked up in her life… If I call, they’ll probably tell me to bring her in for observation or at least blood work and she really doesn’t look like she needs it.

In other words, my dog puked and now I’m having a panic attack because I’m a freak.

Ugh. I’m broken. My kingdom for a nap!