I Think England May Be Trying to Kill Me

After gradually coming out of the dungeon of being sick with a cold, I made the trek to the temp agency that seems to be doing a fairly god job of finding me employment. They sent me out on a job that they said would only last two days, but I have ended up working there for the next two or three weeks. I'm working as a P.A. for the chief executive of a charity organization. She's actually a Dame. She's very nice and easy to work for, and it's been fun trying to figure out how to do things. It's been a fun adventure that has kept me fairly busy. Everything was going great...Until...Thursday evening after work, I met Diana at my tube stop, and we went out for a stroll/dinner. We made a visit at Harrod's (that's where the queen shops...from home), and explored the fine jewelry sections as they seemed the most like a museum. We met a girl from New Jersey that was working at Tiffany's and was more than excited to talk to us about the Tiffany setting and to explain to us that we should do whatever we can to live in England. Apparently, at 23, she was living with her boyfriend, with a dog, and a car, and she got scared that this was it...so she sold everything she owned and moved to London to get an MA in literature...and had been there ever since. She was annoying at times...but...also encouraging. Then, Diana and I made our way into the fanciest tube stop you can imagine (the one right outside of Harrod's), and travelled to Brick Lane to get some delicious Indian food. It was lovely, and the food was delicious. We shared a bottle of wine, and reminisced about past natural disasters (because sometimes you just have to), and then we made our way back...by the time we got to Turnpike lane, I was feeling a little disoriented, and nauseated. We quickly walked back to the house, and I took a shower and got ready for bed, only to realize that I was having trouble standing up, breathing, and not crying. Liam informed me that I needed to call in sick to work for Friday, but I was worried that I would lose my position, so I just said I would see how I felt in the morning. After throwing up the fourth time in 3.5 hours, I decided that he was right...calling in was probably the best option. Liam was quite the hero. He realized that I probably had the dreaded Norovirus that has been sweeping the country since after Christmas, and looked up what to expect from it on the internet. He got me a bucket to keep by my bed and stayed up with me as long as it took. He called my work in the morning and expressed to them that according to the BBC, I would be able to go back to work on Monday and was hoping to hold onto my current position., but that I could NOT go to work that day. He got me some horrible stuff to drink with lots of electrolytes and whatnot and when I complained and begged for Sprite, he convinced me that I HAD to drink the horrible stuff because it was the best way to keep myself Hydrated. He was very adamant about it...and to tell the truth, it did make me feel slightly stronger and better. He kept playing movies for me on my laptop while I moaned and groaned in pain and sorrow, and he, at one point, told me how lovely I was...although this must have been a lie...he had cleaned out my throw up bucket and other things that had been destroyed in the onset of the virus...and I looked like death....but he told me I was lovely none-the-less..and for that, he is my hero. I haven't eaten solid food in over 24 hours, but I've been keeping hydrated, and I am feeling a little stronger today. The symptoms are gone. I'm excited about eating some crackers and jello, and excited about one day...and hopefully for days in succession...not being sick.