9:30 p.m. — My stomach is killing me. I'm doubled over in pain and can't stand up straight. It's the black bean bowl I ate earlier. It's difficult to take a deep breath. My boyfriend seriously thinks we should go Urgent Care, but that's the last thing I want to do. We were supposed to head to a park downtown for an outdoor pop-up arcade, but we head back to his place instead. I'm sad and also feel bad about abruptly ruining the night, but my BF repeatedly assures me everything is okay. We head up to the third floor “chill room,” put on X Files, and I take a hit of weed to help with the pain. I stay curled into a ball and end up going to bed around 11:30.