Last night I puked about a gallon of this and that, all rather alarmingly well-digested. Odd how you get something in and it can’t be endorsed for the rest of the procedure and the body somehow knows.
And the body knew. A little tightness in the gut in the morning, but otherwise I was fine and had a good run drawing up my Sunday school lesson. And then after a break I was weak and achy and decided on a nap, but it didn’t work and I was weaker and achier. Eventually the body was crying out, in its way, and there were ups and downs. The mind had perplexities, but no certain understanding, you see. I should have known by the mounting acid taste in my throat, but I am not often sick and the ways of sickness are something I’m no expert in. Mabe the stomach had to be charged to fulness in order to fully expell what afflicted it. Judging by the outcome, it was for several warm hours full to capacity.
And then night, and then troubled dreams, and then about midnight the revolution. Good thing the bathroom is very close because two heaves came before I was entirely there. One heave fills all the cranial cavities I have, and two makes a mess. I think there were about ten full and satisfactory heaves (it is a mingled pain and pleasure, isn’t it? it sucks to puke but you know it’s the right thing and you welcome all there is). Then blowing puke out of one’s nose and all the subsequencies.
And then in the afterglow reflecting on the ways of the body, that odd thing. I found the event instructive.