It began in late April of 2015, right at the beginning of spring break. I had been looking forward to the state thespian festival, an adventure I had yet to go on, but unfortunately it was at the very end of spring break so I would have to wait out the better half of a week. On about the second day of waiting, I was up late watching Netflix when I decided that I was hungry and would make myself a TV dinner. I head over to the refrigerator to see what I could reheat and I found yellow rice and fish sticks. In general, this would not have been too appealing but the 11 o'clock hunger was growing so I slathered up the rice with butter and popped it all in the microwave. Even as I ate the food, I realized it probably couldn't be too good for me, it didn't taste great and my sister had had a stomach virus earlier that month, so I was really testing the limits here. I went to bed content but woke up with an awful stomach ache, and I could tell the food hadn't really been digested. I lay awake in bed just trying to shut out the unbearable pain, and recover in time for the thespian festival. It was then, in the late spring morning that my mom reminded me that I had I psychiatrist appointment to get that Addy renewed. I begged and pleaded, making note of how much pain I was in, but she told me we had to go, there was no other choice.
My mother ignoring my sickness has happened one other time and it was when I was eleven years old and about to go to Sunday school for the morning, and then I ended up having Swine Flu. We were almost out the door and I told her that I just really did not feel well. She didn't believe me, naturally, because I was obviously just trying to get out of an obligation, right? Wrong! I had swine flu and was bedridden for the entire next week, so you'd figure that mom would start believing me, right? Wrong again! We were driving in my Grandpa's Mini Cooper when I explained that I felt like I was about to hurl. She pulled into the pharmacy right off of Park Ave and bought me some sticky red syrup that I took one shot of, and hoped that I'd start feeling better immediately. "Wait, you have to take two," she said. I didn't think I could do it, but I tried, and it turned out that I was right, because all of a sudden a whole lot of yellow rice and fish sticks decided to evacuate the dance floor so I flung open the car door and repeatedly vomited in the parking lot, over and over for about a straight minute. "Okay, I'm ready to go now," I told my mom. Now, she decided I was sick enough to stay home.
Lying in bed over spring break sucked, and what sucked even more was that it wasn't even the first time that this had happened. Exactly a year before, during the spring break of my sophomore year, I was staying at my friend's grandparent's beach house in Ormond beach, when I spent a day eating a little bit too on the rich side. My friend and I even ordered a Shirley Temple in a fish bowl, which was normally used for alcoholic drinks, but not in this case. The next morning we were supposed to hit the gym, but instead, I woke up at four in the morning and vomited everywhere. I drank a lot of water, went back to sleep and then woke up two hours later and puked again. My friend woke up and said to me, "so the good news is that we woke up early enough to go to the gym, the bad news is I have it on good auditory authority that you're sitting in your own vomit." The rest of that vacation was notably less pleasant, and when I got back to school, things took a turn for the worse. I was sitting in class on the first day back, and some juniors were talking about New York's law to limit how the size of soda cups that can be sold. I made a comment about drinking a ton of Shirley Temple from a fish bowl and the teacher gave me a funny look. At the end of that same week, I said something about how I had been sick and the teacher, thinking she had put two and two together, emailed my mom that I had been out drinking for all of spring break. Well, mom got mad and I had to try to explain that I hadn't been drinking which ended in about a week of suspicion before my parents dropped it.
So as I'm lying in my bed, trying to retain fluids and what not, my mom begins to clean my unbearably messy room. She makes her way across the floor, picking up clothes and checking the pockets, before tossing them in the hamper. That's when I remember that the pair of pants in the corner of my room have a condom in it for one reason or another. Mom already knew I owned a condom because she had found it several weeks before and placed it on the middle of my bed. She didn't confront me about it, but casually mentioned, days later, "it's not like you're using it." Ouch. So anyway, I didn't want her to find it a second time, and so I exclaimed to her that I needed water RIGHT THAT SECOND, and so as soon as she left, I jumped out of bed as fast as a sick man could, grabbed the condom, and stashed it in the table by my bed. Mom walks back in as I'm getting settled, but all at once the movement catches up to me and I hurl all over the floor between my bed and the wall.
Luckily I got better in time for States, but for more on that, turn here.
http://jacobjacobjacobjacobjacob.blogspot.com/2016/03/a-snazzy-title.html
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