(FYI: I know this technically isn't a Writing Wednesday post, but it's my blog, and rules are meant to be broken) Have you ever thought about what it says about us humans that we're capable of spending days home ejecting all of the food we've eaten in recent memory? We're really just sad sacks of carbon, aren't we?
I only ask this because it's how I spent my Sunday recently. Chocolate ice cream just isn't as exciting in reverse.
Like usual, it got me thinking about things. Like how frail we are. And how much we need other people. And whether or not vomiting is considered an acceptable form of ab workouts.
I'm not too "man" to admit that I cried for a good portion of the day. The best way I can describe it is as that scene from Alien where the creature pops out of the guy's stomach. Or is it The Thing? Both? I don't remember.
I just really came face to face with my mortality there for a while. Mainly because I thought I was about to go see God at any second, but still. I was looking in one of those funhouse mirrors, and not the one that makes you skinny and tall.
I don't know what this all means. I'm actually writing it from my deathbed (in this case, the couch) in the midst of the sickness. Every single burp and rumble of my stomach has me reaching for my phone to call the President and tell him I think he should've eliminated nasty bugs like this. That's his job, right?
I'm going to have to stop shaking people's hands. And talking to strangers of unknown health. And eating. This sickness will cause major lifestyle changes.
Or I'll probably just forget about it as soon as it's gone. Like I said, we're inconsistent as humans. And that's almost always a good thing.
But not when it comes to sicknesses.