This was the last time I’d trust the Safeway deli. I knew that roast beef was bad, second it went in my mouth. But no, I have to mind-fuck myself into thinking, just bad taste buds, buddy, there’s nothing wrong with it, go ahead and eat it. Well, so I did, and I hear I am now.
You know what it feels like when the back of your throat feels like sandpaper with rough air running over it, when you can’t stand having even a light sheet on top of your tummy, when you’re afraid to move because then, just then the volcano will erupt – and when it does, every time afterward gets easier and easier until the fourth time, you get this tension in the back of your throat, and say ho hum, another trip to the toilet, no big deal, just get it out of me.
And then there’s the thought that, finally, you’d lose that extra five pounds you’ve been trying to get rid of since Molly’s wedding in May. And then the afterthought, oh, and this time I really will lose the pounds and not gain them back at Thanksgiving. So maybe there is an upside to the convulsive ride my stomach’s taken me on today.
My family thinks it’s just nerves, you know, just a reaction after the funeral. Yeah, I told them, there were those two hours of nausea the night before Mom’s services. And yeah, I hadn’t been sleeping well in the two weeks since she died. Okay, you got me there. But I didn’t react this way last year when Dad died, did I? I was perfectly fine. Okay, guys, sure I was my mother’s baby. But she was 83 and had been bed-bound for five years. And so what if she was the only person I ever really trusted. What’s that got to do with it?
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