I did something stupid. Super stupid.

I took a diet pill. Fine. There you have it. It’s been years since I’ve messed with stuff like that but I thought since I was no longer nursing I’d pollute my body for the greater good (skinniness).

Go on, judge me. It gets better.

September has been tough on me. I haven’t been sleeping or eating much. My husband’s school schedule hasn’t allowed me much time to run. The kids don’t nap. Normal stuff. I’ll survive but it’s been a bit tough.

Last Monday I started feeling bizarre. My heart was doing crazy things, I couldn’t sit still, and my sleeping patterns worsened. Coffee was my savior. It was the only way I could keep my eyes open and get through the day.

I threw away the pills at imaginary Zach Morris’ urging and tried to ignore how horrific I felt. Wednesday night I went to bed early in feeble hopes that sleep could cure me of whatever was wrong with me. I couldn’t sleep. My chest was tightening, my heart was racing, and my limbs were tingly. I started to freak out.

I came clean to my husband. He was bewildered and taken aback. He kindly assured me that I’m not fat (I know but obviously I am pathetically vain) and we decided together that I should head to the hospital.

I was fairly certain I was having a heart attack (my husband was pretty freaked out after googling the product I had sampled) and thought I should probably get checked out since I was going to be alone with the kids while my husband was out-of-town. I didn’t want to collapse and die and leave them to fend for themselves.

Upon my arrival I was seated in a wheelchair and whisked to a room and hooked up to an EKG. I was mortified pretty much immediately. Although I had showered I hadn’t shaved and I looked like a wolf man. So. I was going to die hairy – this is a huge concern of mine. I really want to look nice when I die. The thought of strangers handling my dead, nude, and unkept body sends shivers up my spine (I know. I’m sick.).

The nurses kindly assured me that there was nothing I could do to avoid a hairy and unkempt death since hair continues to grow after you’ve died. Awesome. I feel better already. Then they saw my unpedicured feet. Horror. So I’m having a heart attack, my legs are unshaven, and my feet are a hot mess. Best night ever.

Sarah kept me text company and kindly pointed out that I’ve become Jessie Spano. I have. I try too hard to do too much. I push myself to the brink for no reason. Nobody’s going to starve if I don’t have a freezer full of Pinterest breakfast burritos.

It can wait.

Apparently drinking two pots of coffee and sampling caffeine packed bootleg diet pills is not good for your health. Don’t do it. I didn’t die, I wasn’t having a heart attack, and I feel a bit better.

Getting old is funny. Like Grandpa Simpson says:

“I used to be with it, but then they changed what it was. Now what I’m with isn’t it, and what’s it seems weird and scary to me, and it’ll happen to you, too!”.

So old I can’t even handle caffeine anymore. Sigh. Although in my defense a doctor warned me about this ages ago. I just can’t quit the junk. It just tastes so good when it hits my lips.

I’ll stop quoting TV now.

This is me at 4:00 a.m. In the hospital. Obviously.

PSA: Stay off the junk & don’t take two pots of coffee to the head.