music: “I’m Waking Up To Us,” Belle & Sebastian
I hope you’re not easily grossed out. In fact, if you ARE easily grossed out, stop reading right now. Head over to the archives and select for yourself one of my previous entries, comfortably free of anything icky, yucky, or gross. Because for this one, you’re out of luck.
If you’re still with me, just don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I slept until 2 p.m. today. I was in miserable pain, so much so that I wanted to cry half the time, and carve my jaw out of my skull with a steakknife the rest of the time. Additionally, I’ve been feeling really nauseous for some reason. I haven’t eaten anything solid in four days, and it had been nearly a whole day since I’d had even anything soft by the time I woke up this afternoon.
I was watching Mad About You, and Paul Buckman was eating pancakes. Being in (otherwise) perfect health, and not having eaten anything but popsicles and pudding for four days, I began to get the woooorst craving for pancakes. I coaxed my mom downstairs and convinced her to make me a batch of pancakes. She did. Just as she finished, my wave of nausea returned, and I couldn’t even look at them. Mom was somewhat crestfallen.
Roxie showed up later on with a banana dessert she’d made with honey and lemon juice. I love her dearly, but it looked disgusting. I sat down with her to eat it, and by the look on her face, I’d say she had the same opinion. It was the most god-forsakenly disgusting thing I’ve ever let pass my lips. I tactfully told her how yummy it was and swallowed as much as I could. Two spoonfuls.
After she’d gone (and taken that banana thing with her, thank goodness!), I talked my mom into taking me to Target, citing the pitiful fact that I hadn’t left my house in four days. She knew I’d been ill but I’m very convincing, so we decided to go. Before we left, I was feeling a little better so I ate one of the pancakes, cold and with no toppings. It was yummy. My mood improved.
But riding in a car was a different story. Even with the air conditioning on full blast (and the fact that the car’s a 2002 so a fairly smooth ride), it was over 100 degrees and bumpy. I had to practice my deep, controlled breathing to make it to the store without keeling over. I expected I’d faint at some point.
In the store, I managed to distract myself with shopping, and prop myself up with the shopping cart (so hard my knuckles turned white). But, alas, I didn’t quite escape the store. As we were checking out, I made a dash for the restroom. Halfway there, I spewed chunks EVERYWHERE. All over my face, down my arms.. it flew over the floor like a beautiful fountain of… well, pancake and banana.
I just stood there for a minute, totally stunned and beyond humiliated. I looked around for my mom, she was calling someone for cleanup. I kind of crouched down, and just rocked, there, in the middle of my barf. It was my crowning moment.
Needless to say, I don’t think I’m really ready to brave the great wide world yet. My stitches (or some of them) came out this evening, though, and I felt well enough to let Jenn come keep me company. She played board games with me and then we watched movies. What a friend. If I knew she’d puked all over a commercial establishment, I’m not sure I’d really want to go hang out with her that night. But she did, because she’s awesome.
And the moral of the story is, don’t ever touch floors in public places, because there’s no way to know how clean they REALLY are. Thank you, and goodnight.