I was sound asleep until my stomach started to gurgle. It was sour as hell and waking me up. I could feel little furry feet pressed against my back and I blinked my eyes open. "Ergh, " I actually said out loud. I had to get up.
I chomped down two Super Extra Tums and I knew even then that those suckers were gonna come right back up. I drank some cold, clear water and waited about sixty seconds. Yup -- find a recepticle now, cuz here comes dinner.
Some people are barf-phobic. Thank G-d I'm not, or my whole life would be hell. Both of my parents like to tell stories of me as a kid, embarassing them in a restaurant by managing to nail our table and the next two with my impressive gastronic purging. Ibarf when I'm too nervous to deal with stress. Sometimes it comes on immediately, like an innocent witness reacting to nasty crime scene photos, and sometimes my stomach churns for hours until it decides on the grand finale. And that's just the emotional ralphing. I can't decide which this is, physical or emotional.
I was incredibly upbeat all day today. Even through two meetings with incessant technological problems, I was chipper and patient. Incredible. So it can't be that.
The building I live in is referred to by the owners association as a townhouse. It's a square brick building with four floors, and eight apartments. There are real working fireplaces in each apartment and folks have been having fires all night tonight. I can smell them from my place. There is a rich woody scent, like someone paid extra for some kind of balsam wood or something. Not your average fire, something fancy. Figures.
When I woke with my super sour stomach, I noticed that my apartment had a faint smokeyness all around. I wasn't sure at first if it was me without my glasses thinking it was foggy or what. So I wonder if the saturation of fireplace scents and smoke isn't making me a little ill.
Or maybe it was the homemade pot pie I had for dinner.