up and over and trying something new
So I just wanted to write, and this was what came out. I won't pursue it, but I really like the X tattoo thing. I'm keeping that ;D
-------------------------------------------------
Sick is one of those disgusting, normal, over-the-counter kind of words, and it didn't describe this thing I was feeling. No, to describe that I would choose horrendously indisposed or something equally obvious, but maybe grosser. Like, running from both ends.
What is no less horrible (but a little less apparent at the time of one's service to the porcelain god) is the realization that someone with a certain quality of maleness was holding your hair back and dabbing your forehead with a cool washcloth while you proceeded to heave absolutely nothing out of your empty stomach again and again and again. To be seen by anyone other than your mother at this vulnerable time is mortifying enough, let alone that the one who had helped me was a man who I'd never seen before in my life. In fact, I hadn't seen enough of him to be able to recognize him out of a police line-up (although I did remember the strange X tattooed between his right thumb and forefinger). Though I knew I should probably thank him, I also knew that absolutely no part of me wanted anything to do with a man who had witnessed all the contents of my stomach on their outbound trip.
But the universe has a shitty sense of humor.
-------------------------------------------------
Sick is one of those disgusting, normal, over-the-counter kind of words, and it didn't describe this thing I was feeling. No, to describe that I would choose horrendously indisposed or something equally obvious, but maybe grosser. Like, running from both ends.
What is no less horrible (but a little less apparent at the time of one's service to the porcelain god) is the realization that someone with a certain quality of maleness was holding your hair back and dabbing your forehead with a cool washcloth while you proceeded to heave absolutely nothing out of your empty stomach again and again and again. To be seen by anyone other than your mother at this vulnerable time is mortifying enough, let alone that the one who had helped me was a man who I'd never seen before in my life. In fact, I hadn't seen enough of him to be able to recognize him out of a police line-up (although I did remember the strange X tattooed between his right thumb and forefinger). Though I knew I should probably thank him, I also knew that absolutely no part of me wanted anything to do with a man who had witnessed all the contents of my stomach on their outbound trip.
But the universe has a shitty sense of humor.