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Urrrrrrrrrrrrgh. I just broke my streak.

I believe the last time I vomited was after an abysmal, experimental night of gin, depression and loneliness. (Haven't drunk gin since.)

This morning-- okay, noon-- I got up, made breakfast, and then before I could eat it, was seized by a wave of nausea. Stumbled into the living room where Dad was watching a war movie.

"Don't feel good. I feel so nauseous, Dad."

"Did you take some Pepto Bismol?"

"Noooooooooo."

"What did you eat?"

"Nothing, I made breakfast but I didn't eat it."

"You should take some Pe--"

"BLEEAAAAAARRRRRRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

That was ten minutes ago. This was a revolutionary puke because:

1. I did not cry during it. (Vomiting is very traumatic for me; I usually cry and cry because it is so horrible.)

2. No one was there to comfort me, and I didn't really need it. (Usually my sister or my mom hold my hair for me. My dad was strangely unsympathetic. Perhaps he lives in the Real World, where vomiting is just an ordinary, unpleasant thing that occasionally happens to the best of us.)

I'm like Jerry Seinfeld. I like to vomit once or twice a decade. I can list all the times it's happened within my memory:

1. Age 3. Stomach flu.
2. Age 8. Stomach flu.
3. Age 10. Swallowed bathwater.
4. Age 19. Australian food poisoning. <--- worst
5. Age (21? 22?). Stupid gin experiment.
6. Age 24. As yet unexplained.

So what the fuck is causing this? I haven't eaten anything unusual, I felt fine when I went to bed, felt okay when I woke up, and then the smell of bacon made me hurl. Is there something going around?

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:03 PM | shower me with attention