The Prison That Is Know As Sickness.

The Stomach.
It is an organ that has a mind of its own. If it decides that it is a good day, then you will be walking around feeling normal, healthy, and chipper as a freaking blue bird on a spring day. Then there are the days where something doesn't sit well with Mr. Stomach and all goes to hell. He shakes his metaphorical head and comes up with a plan on how to teach you a lesson. You will know it's coming. He wouldn't settle for less.
Today is that day.
Mr. Stomach makes sure that you don't sleep well because he is shake, rattle, and rolling everything that he contains. He's playing some obnoxiously loud beat that thrums through your head and makes you feel awful. Not to mention, he wanted you to go no where. So he knows what is gonna happen and when but the creep doesn't fill you in. It could be in the morning, in the middle of the night, when you are in public getting that milk you were supposed to get yesterday, at your friends house, or if you will be lucky to have your own home to feel miserable in.
Then it happens.
Hopefully you were prepared and if not, please make your way to the nearest receptacle or restroom. Woman, make sure yo hold your hair back. Men...well, if you have long hair make sure you hold it back.
The interesting thing about the whole situation is that most of the time you will feel better after Mr. Stomach has pulled the evacuation button. But there are always those days when it just makes everything worse. You won't get sick again, which is nice because no one enjoys that, however you just end up feeling like there are tons of acid bricks sitting in your stomach. No matter what you try to eat it will do absolutely nothing.
Then. You. Are. Stuck.
You are confined to a couch, a bed, a plush chair. There is no leaving the house because you never know if you will be sick again or if you are having a terrible "acid trip" if you will. Try as you might to do what parents have been telling their kids for ages about eating dry toast or crackers or soup will do nothing to help you. Then you curse them since they are supposed to know the answers to every single problem that has to do with these kinds of illnesses. You have to stay indoors and sleep or read or stare at the ceiling for hours on end.
Being sick sucks.
I hate you Mr. Stomach.
(Ps. if your name is actually Mr. Stomach I apologize for using your name in an attempt to be witty and sarcastic.)