Tuesday, November 23, 2010

day twenty-three #aedm2010

It is all fun and games until I pull out my thrift store Schlitz Beer T-Shirt which has been found in more pools of sick than a frat house during homecoming weekend. Actually, not really. That is what I imagined happened in the past life of this t-shirt. I bought it as a painting/ironic hipster t-shirt and it ended up being the shirt I wear when I am feeling queasy and/or puking my guts out. In the moment, when I catch my reflection in the mirror after puking up the contents of my stomach, it seems like I am having more fun than your run of the mill Norovirus.

I'm not. 

Actually, I don't seem to have the actual puking bug/norovirus. I had a massive internal "cleanse" yesterday after dinner, upchucking my entire dinner and mid-afternoon snack, and then nervously, in absolute stillness, I stayed on the bed, mere steps from our toilet, wondering when I was going to puke again. I never did, in fact, but you know how the twenty-four hour bug or rather, the threat of the twenty-four hour bug, does that to you. It messes with you. It makes you wonder if you need to cancel every activity. "Is Thanksgiving even going to happen?" you bemoan. You warn every person that may call. "Don't come over. We have the ebola." The first person pukes and then you wait. When is it coming? When is it happening again? Should I cancel the weekend plans or wait? And then, when you think you are clear, it shamelessly rips through your house like your family is a trailer park and it is a summer tornado. Trucks are overturned. Laundry is strewn about the furniture. Towels line the bedsides and floors making a path to the john and back. It isn't pretty. A week is mysteriously wiped off your calendar. Last norovirus that plagued our house was the day my husband got home from surgery, and my daughter kept mysteriously declaring that she couldn't yawn, and then would spew in a way that rivaled the Exorcist. I am still scarred.

Oh, dude. My husband just got home from work to help me in case I hurl again. Notice, I am blogging, and I have painted a picture. And I am going to ask if he minds if I catch up on some NaNoWriMo word counts, and sip on some warm liquids that may or may not be called coffee. I seem really sick, no?

I also think you should notice that I used the correct form of the adjective describing myself as experiencing nausea. Not nauseous, which is something that causes others to experience nausea, but nauseated the experience of nausea. Though if I did draw a wee puddle of puke on the floor next to me, I might be nauseous to you, but as it is, I kept it as nauseated. See, even in my most delirious, nauseated moments, I am still a grammar asshole. Yay. 


Once A Mother said...

i am so sorry you are feeling sick, though thinking of schlitz beer brought a smile to my face.

Tobi Kibel Piatek said...

I have just looked at your work. I love the simple expressive drawings. You inspire me to try to 'express' my inner feelings in my work, along with my vision of the outside world.

Angie said...

Ha! Sorry to laugh at your current condition, but I lost it when you described Bea's projectile vomit. I hope you feel better mama! Stay in bed, ring a bell when you need some more warm liquids, and watch old movies. xo

Amy said...

oh man.... so sorry you have the pukes. NOT fun. Feel better soon!