Today was fucking rough. What should have been a glorious day started and ended with me hurling in the holiday season with my head halfway down the toilet as I sat naked on my bathroom floor.
Aaron got up at the crack of dawn, packed his things, and was out my door by 7:30 a.m. for his abusively early flight time. As much as I wanted to continue sleeping in my empty bed, I had apparently developed some bad stomach pains through the night. Now, they were becoming a bit too much to handle. It’s that recurring pain I get in the same upper stomach spot every time. Usually, it’s never this early in the morning – or this bad. My guess is that the pains were a result of wolfing down three grilled cheese sandwiches last night after not having eaten in a few days. My stomach couldn’t handle the rush of food. Fuck.
I couldn’t fall back asleep. I tried, but it was no use. With the pains getting worse, I got down on all fours in the bathroom, leaned forward, and was reacquainted with my grilled cheeses for the next 15 minutes. When I started bringing up nothing but stomach acid, I crawled back into bed, with the stench of vomit covering my arms, and fell asleep for a few more hours.
When I woke up later, I felt better. My stomach still hurt, though. I had already wasted half the day by sleeping so late, so I couldn’t stay in bed any longer. I immediately began to scrub down the Witch Cave, because I couldn’t deal with the mess any longer. Few things calm me like a clean apartment. With the amount of dirt and stray wig hair that had been traced throughout the space over the weekend, I needed to bring out the bleach and do some sanitizing.
Within an hour, I had organized my dirty clothes, dusted, vacuumed, mopped, did the dishes, showered, took out the garbage and recycling, and met Mom outside my apartment so she could take me up to Casa Z with her. But first, the moment I had been waiting for all week. After countless days of Googling pictures, reading menus, and salivating at the thought of them, it was finally time to get some Dairy Queen chicken fingers.
I had Mom stop at a nearby DQ before we got on the highway, and chowed down on my combo as we drove north. I wasn’t even halfway through the box, and my stomach was not having it. It was like my body just wouldn’t digest anything. I’m no doctor. However, what I imagine when this happens is that all of my food gets clogged in one of my intestines. That seems to be where the pain always comes from, so it’s most logical to me. For a clearer image, imagine Homer Simpson getting stuck inside a water slide. Except, in this case, it’s a chicken finger. No amount of dipping sauce was enough of a lubricant to dislodge the clog. Instead of reading the warning signs appropriately, I continued to scarf down my meal. After all, I had been waiting for so long.
We got home, I took the car out, and headed to my first appointment of the day. A 3 p.m. follow-up visit with Dr. Europia for my foot. When 3:30 p.m. rolled around, I was still waiting. Then it was 4 p.m. After that, 4:30 p.m. Around 4:45 p.m., that’s when I lost it on the receptionist. The whole visit was a complete waste of my time. I had another appointment at 5 p.m., which I would have missed had I stayed longer. Instead, I wasted two hours of my time waiting to not be seen by the doctor. We’ve rescheduled for next month. Fucking ridiculous.
One of my biggest pet peeves is people who do not consider time. This comes in many forms: walking slow, eating slow, talking slow, working slow, driving slow, and just being late in general. It’s fucking rude. Fuck. I’m still angry about it!
The next stop on my journey through the sticks was a haircut at 5 p.m. Disregarding my throbbing stomach, I bought a discounted box of Halloween candy at the drug store before visiting Kris. I then proceeded to eat all contents of said box while Kris brought my hair back to its unnatural golden glow.
Isn’t it so weird how your hairdresser is basically your therapist? I mean, not that anything I tell Kris is super confidential – I don’t exactly recite my stories with a whisper – but he still knows a lot about all of his clients. At the end of the day, is that even enjoyable? Gossip and conversation are so much a part of the salon experience that I can imagine Kris either tunes it out, or fakes interest some of the time. I definitely would when Susie Homemaker sits down to get her roots done. By the way, the chocolate was not helping my stomach situation.
After my hair, it was time for my rescheduled tattoo touch-ups. I had called in advance to make sure Sid was ready to go. When I arrived, he had everything waiting for me. All I had to do was hop up on the table and stick my arms out. Sid went to town on almost all of my tattoos. We’ll see how they heal up over the next few weeks. It’s the two butterflies I’m worried about again. At the end of the session, Sid refused my tip. Bonus for me!
The final stop on today’s adventure was a quick visit to Walmart for groceries. From there, I returned to Casa Z. I got started on a few loads of laundry, and my stomach was still not cooperating. Unfortunately, Mom then offered me dinner. Fuck. In classic Kurt fashion, I had two large servings of chicken and rice, followed by chips and more candy. This was around 8 p.m. It was literally just me packing meal on top of meal, unable to cure my insatiable hunger while my body refused to digest anything. I couldn’t believe that I was still hungry.
With the laundry finished, and my stomach twice the size it was when I arrived at Casa Z, I drove back downtown and settled in at the Witch Cave. I was so tired. My stomach was also reaching peak levels of pain. I couldn’t even bring myself to unpack.
Remember when I went to the hospital for these same pains back in high school? The pain tonight is that bad. In fact, it’s probably worse. That was about ten years ago, and it’s never hurt as bad since then. This is next level pain. I have no idea what to do right now. The only thing I could think of was Xanax. I just took 1.5 pills and crawled into bed. Let’s hope we pass out.
Goodnight xo
“Waterslide Disaster Diet” - The Simpsons