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i think i'm going to be sick
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i've seen it before on TV where the actors are in some problematic situation and then either A) pretend like they're about to be sick because of it or B) actually feel (well, at least act like they are feeling) sick and then subsequently vomit. i was just watching
sex and the city last night (i don't feel like being judged right now, ok? but whatev, think mean thoughts and lesser of me, kick me when i am down), and carrie said she saw her engagement ring and threw up. i've seen this episode a million times and had always thought those sorts of vomit moments could only exist in the periphery of fiction, but hey, what do you know... that's what i felt like today.
considering the breadth of my situation, it shames me a bit that my first thoughts after i had my first ever vomit moment was equating it with an HBO show about sex (and the city) of yesteryear. at any rate, my next thoughts were along the lines of impressiveness because i never thought i would ever have such a strength of feeling that could trigger some physical response inside of me. i'm not much of an expert in the field of barf, but i know there's a science to it, a formula, a pattern. emotions, on the other hand, are rank and unstable. so when emotions meet science inside of my own core, it's interesting to know my body is capable of this sort of phenomenon.
that, or the idea of my formidable intestinal fortitude is just wrong. wait, it's not something of the extraordinary? my stomach is just weak?
...
my life has felt like nothing but unfair for the last... ever? no, up until now, i've always felt extremely privileged and thankful, grateful - indebted to somebody or something because some force was responsible for the great life i was leading. but then everything dropped and fell and made a complete vertical, and lately, after my fall off this cliff, i've been stuck in the thickest of fogs, and it's damp and dark, and i can't see the end of it. i know that my life will be better once it dissipates, but i just don't know when. i guess i just have to wait. so now that i've had my first vomit moment, i now hold to the adage that time heals.
i'm learning a lot today.
i had to sort all of the clothes out of my father's armoire today. i was asked to do this about a week ago, and last monday, i remember writing it on my gmail tasks list (next to "feed cat" and "feed fish." that list saves lives). by tuesday, i promised myself i would actually do it, and i added "mop the floors" while i was at it to make up for monday's negligence. seven days of non-organized clothes has passed, and since then, i've deleted mop floors off my tasks list.
my surge of severe despair has passed for today, so i can't quite describe it now. but i remember that my heart beated and quivered, and i felt sick and weary, like i normally have. but i also felt like gagging, and i felt powerless on the floor where i was sitting, surrounded by the torrent of my dad's clothes, and more parts of me seared and died. for the last two months, parts of me have just disappeared and passed onto oblivion, and my heart has ached. it hurt. it hurts. and on the floor, i had to try to repress my deep heaves, and although the need to retch lasted briefly, it felt like ages.
i know it's not fair. i had heard of it before, and i understand it now, but the unfairness i've had to brave for so long now is even more unfair. all i have these days is a big ball of unfair that continues to roll and just collects more unfairness, and fuck. but it's wrong, too. it isn't right. it isn't right he's gone, it isn't right he died, it isn't right how he died, it isn't right that he's dead. it isn't right that i had to sit in the bedroom of my father, in the room he will no longer sleep in, tidying the clothes he will no longer wear because he can never wear them again, and it isn't right. it isn't fair he died so fucking young, and is it right his eighteen year old daughter is left in his room?
