On my knees like a sinner pleading for forgiveness from the Holy One, humility made me its bitch in front of the shapely pile of porcelain. My nauseous insides were raging for freedom, but I was too busy fending off their urges – if only to spare myself the pain of being emancipated.

EARLIER…

Pulled out of the alchemy of conjuring up another blog post, I respond to the tapping at my bedroom window. “Terran, open the front door for me please”, cousin Gene calmly cued. I release myself from my chambers to fulfill his request, and upon doing so I’m disturbed by the rumbling of my stomach.

I guess being creative does work up an appetite. Luckily, cousin Gene bore bags of food with him. This was all part of a late night exchange that had become the normal fare over the past week since he misplaced his house key.

He’d come to my window, I’d open the door, and he’d usually have a meal for me to eat. It was almost like being rewarded for not keeping him locked outside.

Accustomed to our nightly ritual, he exclaims “Hey, if you’re hungry you can have these breakfast platters.”

(NOW, LISTEN TO ME, looking back in retrospect, I was the biggest donkey on this side of the vineyard for not probing him with questions before accepting said platters. I mean COME ON. A breakfast platter at this midnight hour? It was as if my brain had shut down and my stomach was the only thing processing any information. So please, bare with me.)

Allowing my mind to assume the best about his offering, I thanked him, warmed up the contents, and carried it to my room for a late night feast. Waffle fries, eggs, and sausage amalgamated with some hot tea I made just before his arrival. Undoubtedly, I had reached the pinnacle of euphoria.

In fact, after gorging on some rum cake I got from my brother later in the night, (Click here for that story) I found myself in a lazy daze. And judging by the comfort being emitted from my pillows, it was panning out to be a pretty restful night – or so I thought.

A few hours past and I’m unable to fall asleep. I find myself lying rigidly on my back, staring daggers at my ceiling. Inside me brews this painful package of gas causing a serious discomfort in my chicken-like chest. Groaning and belching interchangeably, I couldn’t help being grossed out by the infused stench of everything I had previously eaten.

The alcohol from the rum cake, the lack of flavor from those rubbery eggs, and the fatty oils that bathed the breakfast sausage all coalesced to form gaseous Voltron. As time went on, I found myself feeling increasingly queasy. Maybe I went to bed too early and all I had to do sit up for a while longer?

Allowing my naiveness to once again take control of the situation, I propped myself up in my bed. The room began spiraling sloooooow-ly. Soon after each belch was accompanied by a series of aggressive coughs. A stranger listening in from the outside would easily mistake me for a seasoned smoker.

And to make matters worse, my stomach decided that it wanted its time in the limelight. With ceaseless rumbling and constant kicking, the air baby now living inside of me wanted to be born. Now breathing like a pregnant woman between contractions, I decided it was time to relieve myself of these symptoms.

Checking the time on my cellphone, I was shocked to see that it was already 5AM. Had I been in labor for that long? Fighting off the pain of my decaying body, I shamble my way to the bathroom. Zombying my way inside, I immediately lock the door behind me.

It was time to face the music. Heaven knows that this was something I haven’t found myself doing since I was a child. Hell, 8 years old if I remember correctly. I never had any reason to do this sort of thing. It’s not like I’ve ever been one to spend my time constantly getting wasted. But desperate times called for equally desperate measures.

So here goes nothing.

On my knees like a sinner pleading for forgiveness from the Holy One, humility made me its bitch in front of the shapely pile of porcelain. My nauseous insides were raging for freedom, but I was too busy fending off their urges – if only to spare myself the pain of being emancipated.

I grimaced at the idea of having to self-start the process. Trembling out of the sheer grossness of it all, I take two of my branch-like fingers and send them up the alley. I immediately stop a third of the way there. I couldn’t. I JUST CAN’T DO IT.

“PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER MAN!”, I rallied now slapping myself repeatedly in the face. I take a deep breath and try my hand at the situation again (well technically my fingers). Yet this time around before the divers even made their way past the midpoint, I began hacking. This wasn’t going to cut.

I was left with no other option.

Sticking my face further into the target, I began inhaling the aroma of its stilled waters. My mind instantly became cluttered with disturbing imagery of my relatives leaving all their sins at this here altar. Disgusted beyond control, my insides finally got their long-awaited freedom.

(You can thank my later for sparing you the gruesome details. Let’s just say the next two days were spent recovering from what was confirmed to be food poisoning.)

After my internal upheaval, I gave reverence to the porcelain throne with not one, but two flushes. Returning to my bedroom empty-bellied, I was finally able to get some rest; no thanks to my now never-ending paranoia.

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