270. Food Poisoning

Yesterday night, 9.30P.M.:

Hmm, I’m feeling pretty hungry right now. But this curry has probably been left here since afternoon, and will give me terrible food poisoning in 12 hours’ time. I should order something else, to be on the safe side. But man, I am REALLY hungry…

Today morning, 9.30A.M.:

THE PAIN IN MY GUTS. OH GOD WHY.

And I wonder why Eve was dumb enough to eat the forbidden fruit.

(people like to say that hope, love, and faith are all part of the human condition. It’s true, but they’re also missing out on one crucial element: stupidity)

I mean, what’s the deal with food poisoning, right? Look, I understand if you get some hydrofluoric acid on your skin, it’s going to burn like the fires of hell, and you’re going to have to treat it with water and medicine immediately. But come on, stomach: you contain acid potent enough to liquefy the human body inside out, and you can’t handle a little bit of dirt? Some bacteria?

The skin laughs at you. But that’s only until it comes into contact with hydrofluoric acid.

Really though, stomach: I don’t feed you, you’re not happy. I feed you, you’re not happy. What do you want me to do? I’d fire you for being an uncooperative member of the workforce, but your role is too central to maintaining life as we know it.

(oh, you thought I meant digesting food? No, no, that’s secondary. The stomach’s main function is to create shit. It’s part of the human condition too)

Since we’re using corporate analogies for the human body: as I was seated upon the toiled bowl, bent in half with my hands pressed against my tummy in a vain attempt to control the pain, sweating profusely and trying to suppress the need to puke; in my delirium, I found myself saying, “Look, guys. I know there’s a lot of shit to go around, but just keep sending it down, okay? Don’t send any of that shit back upstairs.”

I found myself thinking about how well that sentence applied to corporations as we know them. That is, until I started puking. That was when all thoughts were immediately directed and devoted to how awful I felt at the moment.

So that was how I spent pretty much my entire morning writhing in pain, the first half of the afternoon lying down (because sitting up caused the cramps to start anew), and the second half of the afternoon alternating between playing Skyrim and staying in the toilet. The toilet trips continued on for long after that, of course – the last one I had was no more than 30 minutes ago. But I rest in the knowledge that Skyrim will go on for much longer than that.

But some good did come out of it: during the 2-3 hours of the afternoon that I was immobilized on the couch, I managed to get started on a brand spanking new short story set in prison, titled Sleepwalker. Mostly because I’ve been reading Mr. King’s The Green Mile for a while now, and as the law of production goes, what goes in must come out.

Just like food, I guess.

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