I now imagine that somewhere in the mix of joy full holiday travelers huddling around starbucks coffee stands, holding cell phones to their heads and making communicational connections to loved ones on arrivals, sleeping arrangements, even places to eat, that somewhere in the airport, taxiing on the runway, or standing on an the escalator, or waiting at the carrousel there were survivors from the tsunami. These survivors were happy, joyful, and ecstatic to be alive and eventually getting back to their lives. They also had to be consumed with the conflicted feelings of both fragility, and invincibility. A feeling that they could survive almost anything and yet be crushed instantly and swept away to sea. The invincibility would come most likely in the form of contempt for all things man made. The escalator is nothing to these survivors, the cars we drive, late fees at blockbuster, dog shit in the yard, the cubicles of work, were all things that could be crumpled and crushed in seconds and totally eradicated from the face of the earth. Some how these things of worry have been mentally squashed and are unimportant. The real things to fear, cancer, and health, loss of family and of course Mother Nature herself.
I imagine that my upcoming court date is of no importance to these people, just as my upcoming court date would not be important to Martha Stewart, Kobe Bryant, or Scott Peterson. These individuals would feel ecstatic about having my court date; they would bath in the charges brought against them. A Gross Misdemeanor is nothing when facing prison time and death penalties. Rape and murder charges are waves of trauma that these people have somehow forced upon humanity against the will of others. But I wasn’t thinking about Kobe and Scott, about rape, murder and violence. I wasn’t thinking about the happily scared shitless survivors of the tsunami who would be having dinner with loved ones for the first time that evening. I wasn’t thinking about my rent, court dates, and a lack of financial means. What I was thinking about was nothing at all.
The night earlier on the boat there was a lot of drinking. And like a fever nightmare, in flashes, the dark thoughts kept popping into my mental peripheral vision-just a flash of me in court, dressed in a suit and tie, a flash of my bank statement, a flash of the money that I owe Chris and my father, The power, the cable, the phone, all getting shut off, an eventual eviction, and firing from my job... all in hot demonic flashes in between the joy and chaos that was actually happing around me at the time.
There was salmon and cheese, California wraps, crackers, salami, triangular cut sandwiches and snacks, everything that you would except during a party on yacht celebrating the New Year. But more importantly there were copious amounts of booze. Coolers of beer, jugs of wine both red and white, bottles of rum, vodka, gin and whiskey and in between all of this my body bounced. Consuming both the good and bad of which the night had to offer, until I found myself outside on the deck with the rest of the party with the drunk sister of my girlfriend falling down repeatedly and having to be hoisted back up so she could merely fall down again and regain all attention from the space needle and count down and the fire works... until finally (all standing) 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 the night exploded.
I don’t remember much about the drive home. I just remember instantly going to sleep. I could feel the sickness coming and knew it was something I would have to eventually deal with.
In the morning I awoke and instantly had to shit. I snuck into the bathroom turning the water on, my head splitting in half with all the nerves exposed. Then once upon the toilet, I had to vomit. Sitting there, legs opened just far enough for a clear shot below and all at once fecal matter spilled from my anus and bile poured from of my dental hole.
I was in the car when it hit me the second time. I was trying to hold it back, concentrating immensely on relaxing my throat muscles, wondering how porn stars stopped from gagging when sucking cock and if I too had to relax those every same muscles to stop from puking. Well apparently I am not good at sucking cock because I was soon scouring for the plastic bag located under my sit...
And at this very moment, what I was thinking about was nothing at all. There is something about throwing up. It demands attention from all of those around. The jerking electric movement, the odor, the sound... the world stops, time stops when throwing up....
Cell phones, tsunami survivors, court dates, prison terms, outstanding bills, people in the back seat covering their mouths trying not to laugh out loud, trying not to smell the stink of last nights digested salmon... and I was completely blank, a moment of clarity where everything about me was completely small like when looking up into space and thinking, “it goes on for ever and ever?”
Tsunamis, earthquakes, eruptions, asteroids, supernovas, exploding stars, black holes and collapsing universes... don’t sweat the small stuff James.
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