Tuesday, November 28
So I was puking the other night, a rather pleasant vomit, I'd say, almost a luxury vomit. I wasn't drunk and it wasn't too urgent so I was able to neatly extricate myself from between Emma and Spencer, walk around Delancey who was sleeping on the floor on my sweatshirt, like she does, and I even had enough time to tie my hair back and arrange the bath mat in front of the toilet for my retching comfort. While I was puking up whatever Bad Thing it was that I ate, I had time to do some thinking, and here are the thoughts I had:
- What is the technical term for one HUUUUARGH? Heave is all wrong; it's what you do before anything comes up. I know with cats it's a series of Pumps leading to a Hork, but what is it with humans?
- What is projectile, really? I mean, you're facing downward, so it's all gravity-assisted, but it certainly splashes out with enough velocity to roil the bowl; would that be projectile?
- Where did all this liquid in my stomach come from? It seems like gallons, and I haven't drunk that much today.
- How come nobody names their kids Harvey anymore?
