Worshipping the Porcelain God
I think I had planned originally planned to go to bed at eleven. Eight hours. Really solid coupled with the ludicrous amounts of sleep I've gotten this weekend. I actually didn't get up to my room until just after midnight. That still makes seven hours, which is about the standard for any weeknight and good for a Sunday. Alright, so accounting for token insomnia and a hacking cough, I'll live with six. But then of course comes my completely infrequent yet unavoidable compulsion to make an update to kick me while I'm down.
But I'm grateful with five hours, because no matter how run-over I feel tomorrow morning it'll be a world of pleasure compared to waking up to the sudden realization that I was about to throw up. Now a lot of you probably have the luxury of a bathroom with a door actually leading from the room, or say, just out in the hallway. Well you sissies who had their houses built with plans that "made sense" and don't live in rooms originally designed for "developing film" have obviously never had the joy of running a barf circuit down a half-flight of stairs out your room, cutting through the family room between the couch and the TV, making a final turn down the second, slightly larger half-flight of stairs down to the bathroom door and then fighting a hungover, ill-tempered leprechaun for the privilege to vomit in his "pot o' gold".
This is almost as much as an exhilarating challenge as when, in a brave move in the pursuit of complete and utter retardation, I absent-mindedly lit the corner of a Kleenex on fire. Remember all those movies where a medieval village gets pillaged and burned, and fire just blows right through the thatched roofs? Well, yeah, I forgot. But where my judgment erred was not the first thing in my mind while I was dashing towards the sink downstairs juggling a freakish fireball of my own creation. I burnt a scar of humility into the tip of my finger, but on the upside I didn't have to explain to my family why we no longer had a house. So, yes, I've faced far greater dilemmas than whether or not I'd be able to avoid throwing up the couch. It's pleather anyway. I think it'd wipe right off. And, yes, I'm going to let everyone assume this happened when I was like, ten, and not "three months ago".
My point, though, is that, sure, the flu may have completely derailed my Labor Day weekend, leaving me mostly alone and feeling like shit. But it's been forever since I've so appreciated seeing a few friends, driving with the windows all the way down and music all the way up, and just good health in general. So be grateful for what you take for granted before a sudden sprint to the bathroom forces you to.
Oh yeah, and never light a Kleenex on fire.
But I'm grateful with five hours, because no matter how run-over I feel tomorrow morning it'll be a world of pleasure compared to waking up to the sudden realization that I was about to throw up. Now a lot of you probably have the luxury of a bathroom with a door actually leading from the room, or say, just out in the hallway. Well you sissies who had their houses built with plans that "made sense" and don't live in rooms originally designed for "developing film" have obviously never had the joy of running a barf circuit down a half-flight of stairs out your room, cutting through the family room between the couch and the TV, making a final turn down the second, slightly larger half-flight of stairs down to the bathroom door and then fighting a hungover, ill-tempered leprechaun for the privilege to vomit in his "pot o' gold".
This is almost as much as an exhilarating challenge as when, in a brave move in the pursuit of complete and utter retardation, I absent-mindedly lit the corner of a Kleenex on fire. Remember all those movies where a medieval village gets pillaged and burned, and fire just blows right through the thatched roofs? Well, yeah, I forgot. But where my judgment erred was not the first thing in my mind while I was dashing towards the sink downstairs juggling a freakish fireball of my own creation. I burnt a scar of humility into the tip of my finger, but on the upside I didn't have to explain to my family why we no longer had a house. So, yes, I've faced far greater dilemmas than whether or not I'd be able to avoid throwing up the couch. It's pleather anyway. I think it'd wipe right off. And, yes, I'm going to let everyone assume this happened when I was like, ten, and not "three months ago".
My point, though, is that, sure, the flu may have completely derailed my Labor Day weekend, leaving me mostly alone and feeling like shit. But it's been forever since I've so appreciated seeing a few friends, driving with the windows all the way down and music all the way up, and just good health in general. So be grateful for what you take for granted before a sudden sprint to the bathroom forces you to.
Oh yeah, and never light a Kleenex on fire.