Sunday's drive up your blog… with Ramblin' Rooster

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Nausea

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So if you read last night’s post, this is almost like a continuation. We ordered pizza and I ate too many pieces, but it didn’t stop me from eating the incredibly greasy, yet incredibly delicious cinnamon breadsticks. Something about deep fried, sweetened grease just makes me smile. Then, awhile later I ate some of my Christmas candy. Yes, I am a grown man that still gets Christmas candy. I’m not afraid or too macho to admit it. I like candy, big deal. Apparently fruit flavored taffy and greasy meat with bread makes for a deadly combination in the stomach.

 

What’s most interesting to me is the crippling power of nausea. There’s nothing that shuts me down quite like or as fast as stomach upset. Now there’s many levels of nausea, but the one I’m talking about it is the, “Oh God, I think I’m going to throw up” kind.

 

When you get to the point of being vomitous, the world becomes a much different place. Suddenly things don’t mean what they use to and surfaces no longer hold meaning or history.

 

What am I talking about? When I get physically sick I really don’t care about anything. You could ask to fill my new car with shaving cream and I’d say I don’t care. I can lay my head on the toilet seat without giving it a second thought. I can curl up on the floor, beside the toilet and sleep the night never having cooties cross my mind. Filthy things are immaterial. The way I look is the furthest thing from my mind. Cleanliness and sanitation are words that have no meaning when I’m bobbing up and down in sour-tum-tum-land.

 

On several occasions, alcohol driven puking sessions have kept me “paralyzed” in extremely cold weather. The kind of weather that’s inadvisable to be out in for an extended amount of time. I can understand now why “winos” die in the park during the winter. Some of those experiences I was so sick that the thought crossed my mind that I might perish if I don’t force myself to get inside.

 

Finally, nausea makes me want to be alone. I don’t want to be taken care of or tended to, I just want to be all alone and very, very STILL. Similar to how dogs like to go off to die, I just want the universe to ignore my existence until such a time that the curse has past. I understand that someone might be concerned and want to ask me, “How are you doing?” but it just makes me wish they were dead. I know they are just being nice, but I don’t want to talk, I just want to heal.

 

I’d like to keep going, but I’m afraid I need to lie down on some broken glass in a truck stop bathroom and try to calm my angry tummy.

 

Egg On!

Ramblin’ Rooster

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Written by Ramblin' Rooster

December 28, 2008 at 6:05 am

Posted in Humor

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