Flippin' Randomness

In honor of my buddy Irish, over at Irish Gumbo, I'm going totally random today. Why? Because IG's randomness has infected me, and I need someone to blame for this 6-day onslaught of the mysterious and insidious non-influenza flu, which my doctor has proclaimed I have.

So, last Wednesday, on the second night of my wretched illness, I get up at 3:00 a.m. to hurl. I haul ass around my king bed in the dark, holding out for porcelain. The vague passageway into my bathroom is the last thing I see; my hands groping for a light switch the last thing I feel.

Flash forward I-don't-know-how-long. I feel some kind of coldness on my back and shoulders. The back of my head is sore. I dream I am laying on a hard surface. Travertine feels good on a nearly naked feverish bod. As I'm rousing, trying to figure out where I am or if I'm still dreaming, I realize I am indeed laying flat out in my bathroom and I still have to hurl. I abandon all attempts to move, and hurl right there -- somehow, into the cat's bowls, which I can't see but can feel between my legs.

WTF?

Mind you, I have a large bathroom, and I am at the far end of it from where I passed out at the doorway. So how did my feet get out so far in front of me, when they had hardly kept up with me before the lights went out? It seems I did a double-twisting front flip and, with perfect aim, landed astraddle the cat's dishes.

After some time at the trough . . . I crawl into the shower. Can't stand up. Head is pounding. I sit under the shower spray till it turns cold. Crawl out of the shower, crawl into bed to begin day 3 of the non-influenza flu. What do doctors know, anyway?

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