Whatever Doesn't Kill Ya...

I woke up the other morning in the knowledge that something was wrong. I wasn’t sure at first but then it hit me. My stomach had woken me up. This could be nothing but bad news. I curled into the fetal position as my stomach cramped again. Still, I lay in bed, determined not to get out, convincing myself that whatever was going on in my guts would pass. As another spasm wracked my abdomen, I distinctly remembered my first bite of a Hot N Spicy garlic mayo roll at midnight the night before. I remember thinking, hmmm, my stomach doesn’t feel quite right, maybe I shouldn’t eat this hideously delightful snack. But then, like the raving idiot I am, I ate it anyway.

Finally, I decided that as much as I wanted to stay in bed, tempting fate wasn’t one of my strong points, so I hoofed ‘er to the bathroom for a good sit. As I pissed out my ass, garden-hose style, I made a quick calculation of the amount of toilet paper, water and ORS in the house and realized I was going to have to call in some favours. Finished for the moment, and slightly relieved, I took three steps from the toilet, faltered and rushed back. With an abrupt about face, I realized that this was not all fun and games. I revisited the kabob role in question in a vomitous riot. "Well, that about does it for work today," I thought.

As I lay curled on my bed, I glanced at the date on my watch and thought, "One week in Karachi… Right on schedule."