Thinking Of Spew

Sunday was the sickest day in my memory. It was probably food poisoning, but I am not clear on when or where I started hosting Viral and the Gastroenteritises. I do know that I woke up on Sunday morning, ran to the bathroom to vomit, drank some water, slept an hour, woke up, ran to the bathroom to vomit, drank some water, slept an hour, woke up, etc., for about 20 hours, with Gatorade, a bedside bucket, and a late-night addition of the runs being the only key variations. Of the graphic details I will quickly observe that leaning over the bathroom sink while sitting on the toilet is bad, having the dry heaves is worse, and blowing chunks through one's nose is worst of all ("I just sneezed corn?!").

Apart from the blur of bed, bath, and bucket, I experienced an overwhelming feeling that I was lost, despite being aware and responsive. Essentially, I was disassociating myself from my body. I have had others disassociate themselves from my body, but this was a first. The good thing is that I am happy to be reacquainted.

I rarely remember my dreams, so I should probably note the two I recall from Sunday night. In the first, I decided to go for an eventful walk while visiting friends in California. By eventful, I mean getting lost in the woods, surrounded by vicious ghosts, and rescued at the last minute by the claw of an alien spacecraft. In the second, I tried to help my brother track down an international hitman based at the University of Memphis.

All I consumed on Sunday was water, Gatorade, and a couple of aspirin. Honest.