Puke made my day more pleasant.
Allow me to elaborate.
A professor of mine, one whom I find myself often thankful for — an incredibly insightful woman when it comes to the world of media and marketing — is sick today. While I admit it is a shame to miss out on an hour and fifteen minutes of valuable teaching, it is understandable when vomit, the strong right hook of illness, incapacitates.
We’re all too familiar with the experience: the dry heaving, the cold tile floor in your bathroom, hugging your toilet seat for dear life, unsure whether the moisture of your forehead is from the fever or the warm washcloth you peeled off mere moments before; your body shaking violently; and then comes the moment: fiery liquid climbing your esophagus, involuntary tears running down your face, a deep abdominal pain that accompanies the grotesque struggle.
All of it — disgusting.
Rendered useless before others.
Helpless, wishing you were a child again so that mom or dad can wait on you hand and foot while in your weakened condition. Perhaps your husband or wife has become that person now.
Maybe your stark individualism refuses that anyone tend to you in times of frailty.
Maybe you just haven’t found that person yet.
Maybe you’ll never find that person.
Thank God for rest from the busyness of life.
Thank God for education.
Thank God for puke.