02 03 The Rhineheart Roost: The vomit dialogues. 04 05 15 16 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 31 32 33

The vomit dialogues.

Those of you who know me well enough will know FOR A FACT that I am NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES GOOD WITH THROW UP, PUKE, UPCHUCK, TECHNICOLOR YAWNS or any other metaphors you may have for this disgusting sign of illness. I simply cannot handle it. If my best friend says she has a stomachache, I freak out just a little inside. I have to make sure everyone takes their Dramamine before a family trip, and babysitting is a trial for me when this happens. Siblings? They become instant lepers, practically, and I avoid them at all costs, and when it's in the car I have to hold my breath, cover my head with pillows and blankets, plug my nose and hum because there is no escape to this torture. And all of this comes with a little added bonus for me: shakiness everywhere, very slight nausea, and I go a little hysterical. I feel awful and selfish and stupid for reacting this way, but it's practically inescapable. I think it's the sound that gets me- the horrid, gagging sound that strikes fear into my very core. I don't even let myself throw up- at least, I hold on until the last possible second, and I make sure I have a strong ponytail and I'm in the locked bathroom by myself. oh yeah, I'm drastic. And the teasing has no end; I get it from my dad, my mom, sometimes even my siblings! And don't forget my mom's friend. She likes to tell the story of when I went just a little cuckoo. Okay, so I was begging to spend the night at her house. But can you blame me? I mean, throwing up, seriously?! This is serious stuff! Oh yeah, I even went so far as to sleep in a closet with my bedroom door closed and locked, with a karaoke machine in my ears all night long once.
Paranoid much?
Just a little.
I really could go on and on with my issues but let's stop there. I'm sure you're already convinced of my phobia, right?
Well, lucky for us we've been blessed with a bug that's been infecting our whole family this past week. It's worked it's way up through my brothers, then my parents, then my littlest sister Lula, who was the most recent addition to the sick people. She came home from a friends house, looking suspiciously ungood. Then she says the magic words: "My tummy hurts." Simple as that. I unconsciously scoot to the edge of the couch and tell her to go to the bathroom, which sometimes helps. So she goes, whining all the way and I wait. She comes back out soon enough and curls up into a little ball. She looks really flushed and sad.
A few minutes later, her tummy decided it was done digesting for the day, and she hopped off the couch to go take care of it. Then I hear it, and I know she didn't make it. So despite myself, I look up to see her little face so sad, and unsure what to do. But she's not done, so I yell at her, telling her to go to the trashcan. Poor little thing! At least she made it to the trash. She is crying now, and I text mom to let her know of this little predicament. Then I tell her to go into the bathroom and take her clothes off, which she does. She is now sobbing, and says pitifully, "I hate puking." I try my best to comfort her, and get a bath set up for her. Now, what to do with the little trail... I can't do it. I'm going to lose it, and now I'm panicking. Oh no, oh no. What could I do? I text my mum again, because I'm not sure I can do it at all. But then I think to myself, I need to grow up. I'm tired of being teased. So HA! And I cleaned it up. It was hard, but I did it anyway.


Except now I think i'm getting sick.
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