Two Lost Days

In college I had two different roommates who took great pride in vomiting, or rather, the post-vomiting feeling of accomplishment. On Saturday morning I got to know my toilet in a closer way than I'd like, and as my body heaved its contents outward, I strangely felt no accomplishment, no pride, no sense of relief or triumph. When the initial wave passed I wipped my face, rinse my mouth, and slumped to the floor in a cold sweat. I didn't feel great, I didn't feel like gathering friends around to bask in my deed, I didn't feel cleansed. I just felt like throwing up again, and that feeling is only now starting to dissipate.

I feel now as if something has attacked my body the past two days and only by going into survival mode (no food, drink only water and ginger ale, stay inside, occupy mind with numbing entertainment, don't shave) have I been able to beat down the attackers. Is that my triumph? I'll only claim victory when I can drink water and eat food without feeling quesy and my mouth throbbing.

What have I learned? That vomiting isn't fun. That my old roommates are strange dudes. That pain pills wreck my stomach, my head, my sleep, and my sanity. That there no such thing as minor surgery.