Vomit

Publishing the first piece to my blog felt like word vomit. It took months for me to get to the point where I just wanted to pull the trigger. Many may not see the big deal in breaking the seal, but anyone who writes can tell you that your words are your rawest form. Even if you’re writing for kicks and giggles like me, a part of you is always a little worried about the reception.

Another part of you also doesn’t really give a crap and that’s how I brought myself to press the big blue ‘Publish’ button.

I was kind of just sitting in my room all sick and sad, sneezing on myself because who knows what a tissue is. I was just about to roll over and die  when the sun hit me just right and I was revived from the grave that was my full-sized bed. I audibly said “Let’s do it, bro” like any millennial man in khakis would say when his buddy asks if he wants to play golf on Saturday morning. And in a quick burst of genius, I wrote the end of my first post.

It wasn’t initially how or when I planned to get the ball rolling, but it happened nonetheless. Very rarely do things in my life (or anyone’s life) run as planned. I’m sure you’re nodding to yourself thinking about all the shit the universe has put you through just this morning.

On one particular morning, my universe certainly pulled a number on me.

I’m two years into college and every semester I’ve been oh so blessed with an 8AM class. A part of me can’t be upset, I truly do it to myself as I’ve convinced myself that I’m a morning person. The early bird may get the worm, but the early bird also wants to drink bleach every time the 6:45 alarm goes off.

Anyway, during Fall I had a wonderful 8AM biology class. Around the same time I started to take an acne medication. The medication had to be taken twice a day with a meal and a full glass of water. So of course, like any responsible adult, I did the exact opposite and  took it on an empty stomach and washed it down with a swig from under the faucet.

I woke up for that 8AM biology class like I did every Tuesday and Thursday. I got ready, gathered my things, took my medication, and rolled out the door with my little Breakfast Essentials shake in hand. I drink them in the morning when I’m rushing. So, basically, I drink them every morning.

The second I hit the stairs of my apartment building, the worst nausea I’ve ever experienced began to set in. I briefly contemplated turning back around and going to my apartment but the overachiever in me would rather be burned at the stake than show up late to this class. So I continued on my merry way, gripping the bannister so I wouldn’t topple down three flights.

I was almost to the highway when death became imminent. In that moment, I heard the iconic words of a small Italian woman with a Brooklyn accent: “Eat something, you’ll feel better.” I spotted the Breakfast Essentials shake in my drink holder and I downed it. The chugging ability would make any frat brother jealous. I immediately felt relief. Italian grandmothers are always right (unless they want to put parsley up your butt to help with constipation, then they are WRONG).

Things were going fairly decent. About a mile up the highway, I started to feel nauseous again. My destination was quickly going from biology class to Yack City. Santa Fe is only five miles up the high way and I figured I could make it. Even if I couldn’t get to the school, there’s a Walgreens right off the exit. I could hold it down till I got there or at least to their parking lot. Pulling over on  the high way was not a possibility; God forbid one of my peers saw me. I’d probably transfer.

While I was contemplating this all in my head, I started to gag. Gagging provided some relief until I was basically dry heaving in the driver’s seat of my car. I was one exit away from school when the nausea vanished. I gagged the pain away, basically. Not today, Satan!!!

Then I vomited.

It was a small amount at first. I managed to catch it in my right hand as my left hand kept my car on the road. But then it just kept coming. The little puddle in my hand overflowed and it was all over me. Down my shirt. On my pants. The inner console. The radio. I couldn’t even get a grip on my steering wheel because it was all over that too.

I was swerving all over trying to get to the right lane, my vomit filled hands slipping every time I touched the wheel. Like any good Florida driver in a rainstorm, I put my hazards on.  I was truly as hazardous as they come. People were swerving around me, beeping at me and peering into my car to catch a peek at the purely incompetent driver operating this  motor vehicle. The drivers probably expected to see a blind flamingo behind the wheel but instead saw me, a 20 year old, able bodied woman with vomit on her face, trying to catch the remains of her Breakfast Essential’s shake in her hand.

I reached the exit and looked down at myself. No need for description, you can imagine how bad it was. I got back on to the high way and headed towards home without any hesitation. First I called my mom. There was absolutely nothing she could do from four and a half hours away, but I was absolutely traumatized and needed to share what had just happened. Then I called one of my roommates, Amanda, who I knew was already awake. I calmly explained to her what had happened and that I needed her to bring a towel downstairs. When I got to the apartment, she had not only a towel but also a bottled water (thanks Dita!!!).

I had every intention of going to that 8AM biology class that morning but things just happen. Things you don’t plan, things you can’t control. If you’re lucky, these things will work out in your favor. Other times, they’re just nasty.

 

 

 

 

 

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