There I was, minding my own business, trying to sleep, when my body decided that really, that peanut butter and jam may have been tasty, but it was a BAD idea.
So I violently emptied the contents of my stomach into the pail I've been carrying around. In fact, my stomach seemed quite emphatic that what I had eaten was Bad -- even when there was little left, it continued to heave as if to drive the point home.
I've emptied the contents into the toilet, rinsed the bucket in soapy water, and while I was at it, decided to hop in the shower and clean myself for good measure. No, I didn't get any of it on myself, but you know, when your own sickly stench enhances your nausea, it's time to shower even if you're not better yet.
This incident, to some extent, leaves me reflecting on the human predisposition for believing that we are special, perhaps even invincible. Oh, we all know that there are only certain things we should be eating when indisposed with a stomach flu. Nonetheless, both the Spryte and I have pushed those boundaries heedlessly, and lived to regret it afterwards.
Even as that vile material spewed forth from my maw, I knew that I deserved little pity, for I had foolishly succumbed to the idea that I was somehow different, that I would be able to handle other more interesting, enjoyable foods, unlike others who were ill before me.
Reality has cast me down for my hubris. I am faced with the reality: I am only human, and as such, will remain confined to the bland offerings of the BRAT diet, chicken soup, jello, and water.
Mea culpa. Mea culpa, meus venter. Mea maxima culpa.
On the positive side, the fact that I feel well enough to write a whimsical post about this is a good thing. Although I'm starting to feel nauseated again. *sigh*
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