oh stomach flu, oh stomach flu…

…don’t talk to me about being verdant.
Just when I think I’ll make it through the holiday without feeling too pathetic, too sorry for myself, too dependent on people – I wind up throwing up all over myself and the floor twice as I’m trying to make it to the bathroom. I wind up cleaning toilet water off my face, my hand. The rugs balled on the bathroom floor, the shirt I was wearing an unpleasant cherry at the top of it all and me on my knees at 2 in the morning cleaning up the mess of myself. “this is a low point.” I kept repeating, rushing back to the bathroom every hour through the night.

And why? Did I need another reminder that as much as I tell myself I don’t need other people, I really really really do need other people, that we all need other people, that I don’t necessarily need someone to clean up my vomit (that’s a job I don’t even want) but that I do need someone to kiss me on the forehead and rub my chest and tell me to sleep instead of being on the internet and bring me soup that I won’t eat because I can’t. Just the other day I was saying to myself how much older I feel this year, how much stronger and wiser and grown-up. And now I’ve gone back to feeling like an 8 year old sobbing that she’s alone and sick at Christmas, cursing the timing of it all. There’s a lesson in all of this – I’m sure. I feel it bobbing around me, but my toes and my teeth ache and I’ll wait until I have to go back to work tomorrow to figure it out.

C- thank you for my gatorade. I’m hoping it will do to me what the people do in the commercials. I’m hoping it will help me grow muscles and let me run across football fields in no time. I’m hoping it will make me feel more powerful than I do now.

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