I left you last, Christmas Eve, 1am, while our last guest had to be escorted by my father who walked her two houses down from where she lived. She also had helped clean, although I believe broke a few dishes.
During the cleaning, we had set up an assembly line with my sister and mother bringing over all the glassware and dishes to the sink. Al, my sister’s boyfriend, washed everything by hand and then handed to me for the drying. My dad was breaking down the bar.
After twenty minutes and twenty dishes, I announced I needed a breather. I sat down and felt that vaguely familiar feeling of being drunk. Now, mind you, I haven’t had a good alcohol high in nearly eight years. And the worst part, from what I remember, is when things started to speed up instead of slow down.
Alcohol is a great relaxer. Sure there’s some folks that get crazy on whiskey and tequila tallboys and punch out a bar-back, but for most of us, drinks mellow. At least it did when I boozed. But when things start blurring and the room gets bright, that’s when the trouble starts.
I sat down, took a few deep breaths, and then stood up again. I nearly passed out. Apologizing as I headed upstairs, I needed to sleep.
In my bed I couldn’t get comfortable. I felt something in my throat pushing, wanting to come forth and out. But it wasn’t quite bad enough yet for a manual eject and I tried to fight it.
Throwing up totally sober is among the worst experiences your body can handle. I mean it’s not quite the same as that dude from the movie who cut off his own arm, but I don’t mountain climb, so this is my version of that. It’s a strange thing because you know you’re going to feel better after, but the act of puking is painful. Maybe I’m just a giant pussy. (Not literally)
I ended up puking six times throughout the night. Also, I’m having what I would delicately call “stomach issues.” Less delicately I would call it extreme shitting. If it were an X Games competition, I’d be on tour and sponsored by Charmin.
In fact, and I think this was funny, one time I’m sitting on the toilet doing the deal, and I realize I have to puke. Since I was mid-liftoff, I couldn’t change position, hit the ground and throw up into the bowl. Still sitting, I grabbed the mirrored garbage can to the right of the toilet and unloaded. It was perhaps the saddest moment of my life.
The next morning, being Christmas Day, I was awake only two hours. I missed the opening of presents, the dinner at a family friend’s, and any semblance of holiday cheer.
Plus, since I was sick, my thoughts were as dark as my continuously spouting bile. I starting evaluating my life as a total failure. I couldn’t speak, but I called the girl I’m dating and asked her to reassure me. She convinced me that I’m not a total piece of shit, but that I’m just doing a lot of shitting and not to trust my thoughts during this time.
I actually made it downstairs for twenty minutes of gifts. I couldn’t crack a smile I was so miserable. And nothing is worse than not being able to feel good when you’re opening presents that people have lovingly purchased for you.
The only picture I have that day is from the second gift I opened. I thought I looked okay, and with my fever-brain, I should have known better. For some reason I took the gift that Al had given me, one of those headbands to keep warm when you run, and wore it. Dana took two pictures before informing me I wasn’t smiling.
I forced a smile, and she commenting, “Ooh, go back to not smiling. That doesn’t look right.”
However, even though I technically missed Christmas, it wasn’t a total loss. I had several great days with my family, a few good parties, and great food.
What I initially thought was food poisoning turned out to be a nasty flu, and two days later I feel mildly better. Sure I almost passed out at work today, but I made it through.
Thank you for all the well-wishes during my illness.
