my body would like to have a word

If you are squeamish in any way this post might not be for you

I think I’ve mentioned a few times that I’ve been putting my body through some things over the past two months so I won’t bore with the details. To sum up: severly addicted to Diet Coke and haven’t had one in more than 60 days. Only a handful of interactions with caffein during that period as well. Also severe limiting of calories and fun meaning no alcohol as well. It turns out that humans weren’t meant to do this for a long time lest the body think its starving and starts to hoard what little calories it takes in and stores it away as life giving fat. Blah blah blah who cares?

I am past the 60 day mark which means that I am to slowly introduce more foods and calories into the mix. SLOWLY being the operative word. Welp, Thursday night I was good all the way up until about my fifth beer and just before the shots started. After that it was wheels up. The next day I had to speak and then fly home. The morning was rough but I powered through because I am not weak but by the time I got to the airport things had taken a turn. I was there with a coworker so I couldn’t let the truth out and as I was experiencing a two hour customs nightmare due to a Canadian labour union strike in the way of work slow down (shit this sentence is long…) I thought I might just pass away in the Toronto airport.

Once through that gauntlet I knew I needed food or else really bad things would be happening on the plane. I’m not sure who they manufacture those tiny barf bags for but it aint me. I would blow the bottom out of that sandwich bag with my first salvo and after that, chaos. So I grabbed what sounded like a good idea, a chicken quesadilla. And like magic it seemed to right the ship. I still felt poorly but at least of this earth once again. The plane ride flew by probably due to the cheese and carbs of dinner and I was rudely awakened by our landing.

As we disembarked the aircraft I started to get some not so great abdominal pains. Luckily I was the furthest point from being able to exit the building and get to my car. I had to keep stopping to momentarily change my angle because it felt like something was trying to stab its way out of me. I was sweating and waddling but determined to get home before my world came apart. Once I made it to my car I think my body thought we were already there because for the first time in my own recorded history I uncontrollably shit my pants.

There was nothing I could do. Something was repeatedly stabbing my guts with the Spear of Destiny and I was just along for the ride. When the apocalypse ended I could not stand myself. I stripped down to my bare ass (still sporting a shirt and coat) and proceeded to clean up with the Clorox wipes from the back of my car. I had to duck down between vehicles a few times because this tableau was playing out in an active airport parking lot. Once I was thoroughly disinfected I grabbed the beach towel I keep in the back and wrapped it around myself skirt style to drive home.

If you’re wondering about my pants, belt, underwear, socks, and shoes, I left them where they fell along with the 30 odd toxic wipes. I’m not proud of that but they were not coming home with me. I did drop a $20 bill on the pile for any poor sole brave enough or whose job it was to deal with that. Just took the L on my bottom half. Once home I went straight to the shower, didn’t even take my bag up from the parking garage. On my way down later I threw the towel of humiliation away for good measure.

Friday was a rollercoaster and today not much better but things seem to be calming down. My nutritionist warned me this might happen but I was NOT a good listener. Drunk Tom rarely is.