TELL YOUR MOM I WOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY TO PAY HER, HAD THE RIMJOB BEEN OF HIGHER QUALITY

Friday, December 10, 2004

I Am Sick As A Dog

Really. I can barely type. It's food poisoning. I'll spare you the precise gastrointestinal details, but suffice to say they are quite horrific. I don't know what it was that I ate, but I'm thinking it was a three dollar 'Teriyaki Chicken Bowl' that I purchased at a small Chinese place that didn't look sanitary in the least. I was hungry, I had a ten dollar bill burning a hole in my pocket, and hadn't had Teriyaki Chicken in ages. Saw the poorly made sign beckoning on my commute home, it seemed like just what the Doctor ordered. I pulled in, managed to find a parking space, and was not thrown off by the lack of customers at the dinner rush, nor the total disregard for basic hygiene. I ordered the chicken from a lacquered photo on the wall with a number pasted to the lower left corner (I remember thinking at the time it looked like a crime scene photo), waited for it patiently, and when the counterperson handed it to me, I sat down and ate it. It was fine, they drowned it in sauce, so I wasn't really able to taste anything else. That is until one particular dark piece of chicken tasted like it came from the devil, and it slid slowly down my throat like a big chunk of ice, making me shudder. I forgot about it. I was fine most of yesterday, then at work it hit me like a tongue of bricks and I don't even want to relate what happened. I will likely be the subject of even more workplace jokes if it wasn't so thoroughly disturbing. I was barely able to drive home, having to stop every couple of miles on a frantic search for a public restroom to demolish, each time the impending abdominal apocalypse increasing in panic, urgency, and ferocity. I also threw up out of my window while driving, something I haven't done in months since I tried to cut down on both driving while really drunk and driving while really hungover. I don't know how I got home and managed to crawl in my door, alternating trips to the restroom with dragging my carcass back to bed to lay there, sweaty, shivering and wishing I was dead. A few years ago I read some graphic (and I thought vaguely humorous) accounts of people having to withstand tortures, I tried to employ biofeedback to stop my heart, but I wasn't able to concentrate on it long enough with the frequent trips to the restroom. Last night wasn't as bad, I got temporary breaks and was able to answer some emails, but I didn't get much in the way of sleep. This morning my weakened, shell shocked stomach actually felt like it needed food (the only thing in my refrigerator is hot mustard, a few beers, and a expired container of baking soda) but I didn't have the energy to go anywhere. It's probably better that I don't eat anyway. I'm going to go lay back in bed.

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