I asked him if he wanted a biscuit, since he actually enjoyed one last week. (He was an odd child...we wondered for a very long time if he had taste buds or a sense of taste because he would eat anything and never expressed any likes or dislikes verbally, although I could sometimes tell he was enjoying something because his eyes would roll back in his head. *snorts, remembering* God, he was so cute when he was little. *shakes self*) Oh. Anyway, he said he'd eat one, so I headed to the mall to get him a chicken biscuit at Chick-Fil-A and grabbed myself a small pack of chicken nuggets. Everso yummy. Again. It's all good.
As I pulled out of the junior college parking lot to head to my Mom's my stomach started getting that ohshitohdear hot feeling.
Remember my little bleme from yesterday and my "I'm gonna try to eat just lentils and wild rice for two weeks."? *coughbullshitcough* That lasted until I realized that fresh chopped garlic and the pre-chopped stuff that come in a jar are not exactly one and the same. Because personally? I lurve me some garlic. And when I make a pot of lentils and rice, I usually, in the name of saving time (yeah, right, lazyassina) I use the stuff that comes in a quart jar, and I use, oh, maybe three quarters of a CUP. Yes, you read that right. Anyway, I had no jarred crap, so I chopped up three, count'em, THREE (3!) HEADS (again, yes, you read that right-I didn't say cloves or toes) of garlic and used about three quarters of a cup of that. I added all my other stuff (onion, broth, wild rice, lentils, and both yellow and brown mustard seed) and let it simmer for a bit, but when I ate a bowl for lunch yesterday, I realized I needed to let it mellow overnight in the fridge. I figured for dinner last night, a good substitute for the lentils would be steamed baby lima beans, which were good, but would have been mo' betterer if I had let myself put a
bunch of little bit of butter on them. Butter or no, I was rather glad I have no heater in my bedroom last night, as it may have been something of a fire hazard. The Innocent Bystander can be glad he's in Nigeria.
So, back to me and my roiling hot stomach, driving the maybe three miles between the college and Mom and Daddy's house. As much as my tummy was churning, so was my brain. I'm thinking "Can I make it? Oh, look. There is the Hansboro Arts Center. Daddy's truck is there, so he's prolly teaching a class. I could stop and run in there, but I don't know where the bathroom is, or where he is, plus, this feels like one of those when I don't really want to be in a tiled up, echo-y public jane. Besides which, whilst I've been having this inner dialogue with myself, I've already passed it. Dammit! Oh, shit. I don't think I'm going to make it." At this point, I'm coming up on a major dogleg in the road, and I see a spot to pull over. Again with the churning brain. "I could pull over right there. Oh, God, my stomach hurts. If I pull over, what the hell am I going to do? Get out and shit on the side of the road? Jesus. Sure you would, Jackie. Or, I could just sit here and shit my pants, but I still have to go to Mom's to drop of El Juevo's clothes and stuff, and I know she will see me, and I just can't go into her house with a load in my drawers. Oh, sweet baby Jesus, what am I going to do?" At this point, I had the air conditioner blowing full blast in my face (despite the fact that it is in the thirties outside) and my chin on my chest, kinda looking up at the road through my eyebrows, and some little inner spark of sanity told me both how ridiculous I must look and that if I didn't hold my head up it wasn't going to matter if I shit my pants or not. So, like the proper Boy Scout I was, (Yep. Ya read THAT right, too. I was a womynchild ahead of myne time.) I bucked up and put the pedal to the metal and fairly FLEW to Mom's, all the while unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans. As I screeched into her driveway, I said a little prayer of thanks.
I managed to get the door open and zoomed into the front bathroom, throwing off my outer shirt, 'cuz remember? HOT stomach. I sat on the throne and banged on the wall and hollered at Mom to let her know I was there (Lord knows I didn't want to scare the shit out of her!) and took care of business.
I didn't get in any hurry, because sometimes these things come in waves, and I decided as hot as my gut was, I'd better make sure I was done before I got in my car for the forty minute drive home. As I'm sitting there, I'm getting hotter and hotter, so I took off my other shirt and sat there with my jeans around my ankles and my bra on, sweating, thinking that maybe it would have been better to EASE into the high fiber thing. Meanwhile, my stomach is still roiling. As soon as the next wave passed, I stood up and flushed the toilet, and in one fluid motion, continued down and promptly barfed up my nice, greasy chicken nuggets. I'm standing there heaving my guts up, bare ass still over teakettle because I still hadn't been able to reach down and pull my pants up, and I hear my Mom right outside the bathroom door asking if I was okay. All I could think of was "Please, God, don't let her open that door."
I'm pleased to say that other than some stomach cramps from heaving, I don't seem to be any worse for the wear. I don't feel sick and the 'hot' seems to be gone. I ate a few spoonfuls of lentils and rice a bit ago and it has mellowed quite nicely, and it seems to be sitting well, although I will probably eat some steamed veggies or something later so I don't blow myself out of the water tonight. Anyway, that's how I started MY week. I hope yours is starting much less dramatically.