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Keep Hydrated!
Feb. 27th, 2019 08:27 amDreamed that Max and Robin were black.
They were both teenagers, which was odd because in what we laughingly call real life, there’s a seven-year age difference between the two, so they’ve always represented different demographics—in my mind, at least. The three of us lived happily enough in a big van.
Robin with typically teenage snark and snidery was berating me for my racist attitudes. I was a racist.
“That’s not really true, you know,” I said. “I made a deliberate decision to have black children ‘cause I can hardly wait for the day when the whole world is a dark caramel color, and this whole race thing is some antique weirdness like powdered wigs.”
And then I woke up.
###
I’ve been sick. Vomiting for two days straight and sleeping round the clock. I think I slept 28 of the last 48 hours.
I woke up this morning feeling marginally human though beset with that deep disconnect that comes when your body has given up on you, and you realize that your mind is not just a big thought balloon connected to your body by bubble ellipses but an actual part of your body. If your body gives up on you, your mind disappears!
Food poisoning? Gastroenteritis?
Who knows?
I forced myself to drink gallons of warm ginger-ale. Let the inside of your mouth absorb the liquid so you don’t throw it up.
Last time I was this sick was my first year in Ithaca. I ended up getting so dehydrated that I had to go to the ER. That was a strange experience. There’s a point at which you realize: Wait! I can’t do this. I’m near the edge. And then you scramble for survival.
“Survival” in this case meant putting a phone call in to Ben, the husband who had deserted me under bad conditions, but had already—unbeknownst to me—ensured his own survival by scuttling hermit crab-like into the pre-fab domestic scene of the dour and prune-faced Jayne LeGros.
When you honestly think you’re gonna die, pride is not an issue!
The ER pumped me full of intravenous liquids.
Shortly after Ben drove me back to the concrete bungalow and its unspeakable squalor, for the first and only time in my life, I decided to kill myself.
But then my sister called me out of the blue and talked me out of it.
###
Anyway, I learned my lesson: Keep hydrated!
###
And this morning I’m feeling Not Sick again. Though still rather floaty. I’m sure my proprietary ginger-ale absorption technique kept this bout of illness to two days rather than seven.
###
The lamas want to start doing English lessons three days a week at the Wappingers Falls library.
That’s great! I told the lamas’ administrative aide, an astringent female person named Jamdron who doesn’t appear to have any particular age. They don’t need me anymore!
But they really like you, said Jamdron. They want you to keep teaching them.
It’s not necessary, I said. In fact, you might call it overkill. That’s like four English lessons a week!
We went back and forth like this for a while. But finally, I agreed to continue.
I guess they really like me.
They were both teenagers, which was odd because in what we laughingly call real life, there’s a seven-year age difference between the two, so they’ve always represented different demographics—in my mind, at least. The three of us lived happily enough in a big van.
Robin with typically teenage snark and snidery was berating me for my racist attitudes. I was a racist.
“That’s not really true, you know,” I said. “I made a deliberate decision to have black children ‘cause I can hardly wait for the day when the whole world is a dark caramel color, and this whole race thing is some antique weirdness like powdered wigs.”
And then I woke up.
###
I’ve been sick. Vomiting for two days straight and sleeping round the clock. I think I slept 28 of the last 48 hours.
I woke up this morning feeling marginally human though beset with that deep disconnect that comes when your body has given up on you, and you realize that your mind is not just a big thought balloon connected to your body by bubble ellipses but an actual part of your body. If your body gives up on you, your mind disappears!
Food poisoning? Gastroenteritis?
Who knows?
I forced myself to drink gallons of warm ginger-ale. Let the inside of your mouth absorb the liquid so you don’t throw it up.
Last time I was this sick was my first year in Ithaca. I ended up getting so dehydrated that I had to go to the ER. That was a strange experience. There’s a point at which you realize: Wait! I can’t do this. I’m near the edge. And then you scramble for survival.
“Survival” in this case meant putting a phone call in to Ben, the husband who had deserted me under bad conditions, but had already—unbeknownst to me—ensured his own survival by scuttling hermit crab-like into the pre-fab domestic scene of the dour and prune-faced Jayne LeGros.
When you honestly think you’re gonna die, pride is not an issue!
The ER pumped me full of intravenous liquids.
Shortly after Ben drove me back to the concrete bungalow and its unspeakable squalor, for the first and only time in my life, I decided to kill myself.
But then my sister called me out of the blue and talked me out of it.
###
Anyway, I learned my lesson: Keep hydrated!
###
And this morning I’m feeling Not Sick again. Though still rather floaty. I’m sure my proprietary ginger-ale absorption technique kept this bout of illness to two days rather than seven.
###
The lamas want to start doing English lessons three days a week at the Wappingers Falls library.
That’s great! I told the lamas’ administrative aide, an astringent female person named Jamdron who doesn’t appear to have any particular age. They don’t need me anymore!
But they really like you, said Jamdron. They want you to keep teaching them.
It’s not necessary, I said. In fact, you might call it overkill. That’s like four English lessons a week!
We went back and forth like this for a while. But finally, I agreed to continue.
I guess they really like me.
