day 05 → your favorite quote (+Vomit, +Defeat)

You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep
because reality is finally better than your dreams.

Theodor Seuss Geisel, Dr. Seuss

Something about it is just so comforting. I have only had a few nights when I was so excited about something or someone that I couldn't sleep. It's a combination of exhilaration, glee, and squirmy goodness - an utterly delightful feeling. This quote just sticks with me, perhaps it's something that I want to achieve. Maybe it's just what I think a perfect feeling would be.

What I do know is that I am not feeling any particular joyful feelings that are preventing slumber right now. (I think that it's group withdrawal) If I am not fatigued, I usually go to sleep to escape (read: senior year of high school). Sometimes, if I have watched loads of comedy late at night, I fall asleep only when my eyelids are too heavy to keep up and a smile is still spread over my face.


So the vomit story,


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not in a witty or clever mood - so I might ruin the story.

Well, I am individual prone to major motion sickness. Cars, buses, trains, boats, planes, roller coasters - even if I'm stationary. When I was younger, I would get sick on every major and minor trip. At its worst, I would feel nauseated from just the smell. Still cannot touch airplane food with a bargepole.

Anyway,

there was one 16 hour flight that Father took my brothers and me on. I made it 15.75 hours until that unshakable urge hit me. I had to vomit. Just as the plane was landing. Flight attendants were already buckled in and everything. I looked to Father and covered my mouth as everything was fighting gravity. While staring at him with what must have been the worst case of puppy eyes (I did this quite often before or after vomiting when I was younger. Looking people straight in the eyes. Bizarre), I grabbed the paper bag for upchuck, whipped it open, and aimed straight in.

For some reason, when I used the twist tie on the bag and handed it to the flight attendant, she seemed disgusted. Hmm. Father, on the other hand, was immensely proud of me. And didn't shy away from telling me so. Especially how I handled myself. Didn't make a mess.

That's really the most interesting part of this story.

He always is happy with us when we vomit cleanly. Bless him.

When I was an toddler who had consumed too many dumplings and grapes, I had no choice but to happily spit it up. Father, who observed this, called out to Mother that I had vomited this fascinating mixture that smelled just like wine.

She was not as amused as he.

I have more vomit stories. Well 2 significant ones and some that I vaguely recall. Is that weird?

Sorry, no effort is being made right now in my story-telling because je suis fatiguée.