Lent Day 1, The Struggle Begins

Day 1 - The struggle begins... (dum, dum, DUUUUUUUM!)

Jacqueline and I in "Escape from Alcatraz." Or,
as I like to call it, "Is That Your Foot???"

Jacqueline - cigarrettes

Last fag. Look how far I smoked it down! First and last photo
anyone will ever see of me smoking.

Got up this morning and did my usual routine, switching on the coffee pot, making breakfast for my girl and trying to pry my eyelids open!
First cup down and I'm starting to feel human of sorts and I want a "fag" but instead I smile put on some music and go wake up my daughter who is looking the way I did pre coffee.
There's a packet open on the counter so I quickly put them in a drawer out of sight along with the lighter. Done.
I'm not too bad as I'm busy tidying up, making beds and putting away breakfast dishes.
After school drop off I sit down to my own breakfast and purposefully take my time! I feel the second pang of withdrawal so I head to the shower and get dressed. All the while having this internal argument with myself that I'll just have one! Mentally I slap my own face and carry on getting organized.
It's now just after 9 I've been awake for 3 hours and only had 2 pangs so I'm thinking this is easy, I can do this.
I get to Ground Dwellers (our Brazilian Jiujitsu gym) just before class starts and the thought of smoking is non existent I'm focused on what's in store for me today.
Tough cardio class and I struggle with my breathing and make the joke " I think I breath better when I smoke" mentally slap myself again, my face is beginning to sting!
Three hours later and one kickboxing class and one BJJ class down and I'm feeling awesome but sore! Such is life.
Get home and automatically think coffee, smoke, let the dogs out.  It's so mindless and routine that I nearly do it. Can't see the packet then the fear floods in and I remember they are in the drawer. Do I just have the one? No one will ever know!! Then as  I'm about to leave a proverbial handprint on my sad, frowning face I decide to call my mum instead.
She gives me the gee I need, she says she knows I can do this and that's she is proud of me.
I would like to say that the fear is easy to keep down and that I am joyous but I am not. If I make it to tomorrow that may bring me some joy!
The real test is tonight when my husband comes home as he has not given up and the temptation will be at it's peak!!
Wish me luck

Carla - sugar 

It's just after lunch and I am not happy at all. Coffee and tea without sugar are abhorrent and should only be consumed as an effort to stave off a mortal illness and, even then, only if you know that after you're well, you'll get to drink them with sugar in them. SO, in giving up sugar, looks like I'm giving up caffeine. Who am I kidding? I will just drink them and gag.

I'm also struggling to write. I nibble on chocolate when I write. I don't even have to do this. It's not like it's a sin if I don't. And, I'm hungry even though I just ate.

Put clothes in dryer and almost grabbed a Dove. It's mindless. Routine... Wait, isn't that what Jacqueline said about cigarettes? Good grief. I think I'm literally addicted to sugar. I added up how much I ingested yesterday in chocolate, coffees, cereal and in sweet and sour chicken. It's a good 1/3 cup. Gross.

I do not care for this. I said that whenever I wanted sugar, I would think of Jesus. But, mainly, I'm just thinking about how much I want a piece of chocolate. But Jacqueline's giving up cigarettes which is way tougher. 

In the BJJ escape pictured, I literally had a hard time figuring out if it was her foot I was grabbing or my own. You'd think I'd know my own foot when I grabbed it. But, sometimes you get so tangled up, you cease to know exactly where you are in the knot, where you end and your opponent begins. That's how it is in life too. As it is on the mat, so it is on the earth.   And, on the mat, when you get lost in a knot, you just keep moving, keep working. You'll get out of it or get a lesson out of it. Either way, it's ok. There's no win or lose. It's win or learn.  

So, don't whine. Straighten your gi, tighten your belt and give it another go. Every round is a victory because you made the choice to be in it. But...that doesn't mean it won't really suck sometimes!

(I really want a donut.)

Lent - And So It Begins..

If you read my last post "Lent Screen," you will know I was trying to decide what to give up for Lent. And, I did. Sugar. It's a big deal. But, far bigger is what my beautiful friend Jacqueline is giving up. I can't say enough how proud I am of her to tackle this. Especially publicly. She's awesome like that.

This isn't going to be easy. We know it. A couple times a week we will post comments or a video of how we are fairing. Again, I do not feel this is something required of me or any human.  

This is why Jacqueline is giving up "fags".

Ok, so I have given this a lot of thought over the years and I mean years!! I am a twenty two year smoker.  I have smoked longer than I haven't and therefore have tried and failed many times to quit.  Over the years I have come up with many reasons why I NEED to stop, the usual ones like my health, for my daughter, for the memory of my father that hopefully he's looking down on me and can be proud of the woman I have become, for my mum a lifelong non smoker who has never understood my "habit".  All of which are very good reasons to quit so why did I never succeed?  The answer to this I have pondered and perused frustratedly to no avail, until now...
So here's an insight in to my aha moment!  I can give you two very real reasons why I WANT to stop:-

I want to be the very best version of myself that I can be (insert huge smiley face!) What I mean by that is I want to challenge myself in everything that I do now, I want to be better than I was yesterday.  I don't want to roll with the punches anymore being little miss average, I want to throw the punches and by that I mean make decisions based on what's best for me, that will allow the people who are important to me get what they need from me. In other words, by being in control of my happiness the domino effect will play out and my nearest and dearest will win by proxy.

I really wish I wasn't so limited in my writing skills! This sounds simpler in my head.

Secondly, I'm letting go of the "fear"
Fear of quitting, fear of the panic that will set in when I realize I no longer have my crutch, fear that I will somehow be less happy, less fulfilled! To a non smoker that sounds ridiculous but to every smoker out there totally plausible.  I am replacing my fear with joy as I tell myself I'm not giving up anything I'm gaining so much. Better health, self respect, strength, confidence to name a few.

I chose the beginning of lent as my quit day which is all about self sacrifice and remembering what Christ sacrificed for us but to be honest this is not a sacrifice, if anything, it's the opposite. Therefore, this lent will be a period of rebirth and not of reflection but courage and faith in myself.

If, however, I revert to type (spoiled little rich kid who doesn't like to share her toys) I will do it on Sundays!!!! - legal loophole!
But by Monday you bet your ass I'll climb back on and get my hooks in tighter.

Here's why I'm giving up sugar:

The thought of not putting sugar in my coffee and tea, not eating chocolate while I write, not nibbling on something sweet every single day of my life makes me a little panicky. My hands are sweating now. They only thing that I should hold onto so tightly is the Lord above. 

I'm not going to be looking at the label of everything for sugar as an ingredient, because it is in EVERYTHING. Bread, ketchup, donuts...there's a ton in donuts! Who knew, right? If I need a sugar fix, I will eat a piece of fruit and I don't mean the dried kind drowned in sugar. I will not eat sweet yogurt or sweeten anything with honey, stevia yadda yadda. (My throat is getting tight here and my eyes are tearing up.) 

But, if Jacqueline can be brave enough to quit a 22 year habit, and Maddie her chocolates, let alone Christ be brave enough to give up His life, I can let go of sugar. He really was brave, you know. I think we forget that. Somewhere along the way He was painted into some intergalactic hippy. He wasn't. He was peaceful but did not bring peace. He was tough. He didn't sugar coat anything. He was kind, but he wasn't nice. He knew what was happening when He was taken prisoner. He had always known how it would end. He did it. He could have stopped it at any time. That overwhelms me. And somehow, I still manage to forget it. How? How do I forget that?

When I want sugar, I will remember it. And I speak for Jacqueline and Maddie as well when I say that I might mess up. I might give in. But, it doesn't mean I will give up. On those days, I'll remember that God loves flawed people. We're the kind He uses. He doesn't look for perfection. He has that already. He looks for those who are willing. Simple as that. 

And so it begins... 

Feel free to comment on what you are giving up or just to tell Jacqueline how awesome she is or how attractive we both are without make-up! 

The Lent Screen

For the past fifteen years, I’ve “observed” Lent. I use quotes there because I don’t feel religiously obligated to do it. I do it because I want to and it’s really effective. If you don’t know the gist, from Ash Wednesday to Easter, you abstain from something that is important to you. Whenever you think of that thing or want it, you remember the suffering of Christ and all He gave up for you. There’s actually more to it but that’s the condensed version that I go by. And again, I don’t do because I feel like I have to. I don’t feel like there’s going to be a junky section of heaven for the non-Lenters.

Augustus Gloop - AKA me on Sundays
during Lent when I give up chocolate.

Now, if you look at the amount of time that’s between Ash Wednesday and Easter, you will see there is more than 40 days. That is because on Sunday, you don’t “suffer.” You rejoice in the Lord. This is a little known fact of Lent. So, if you have given up french fries, you can pig out on them every Sunday. You can hide them in your pocket and suck them up through a straw all the way through church. Glory, glory!

I haven’t quite decided what I’m “Lenting” this year. It needs to be something I want everyday and will miss if I don’t have it, yet the public will not be in danger by my not having it! Here are some candidates that I am screening.

1. I would give up sugar and document daily how it affected me but I fear the documentation would be used against me in court.

2.  Meat. Doable. I didn’t eat meat for years. Not a big deal for me BUT, it is more trouble than a carnivorous diet. You have to be mindful of where you are getting protein. I actually felt pretty darn good without meat. The only draw back was I didn’t have much “me-time” in the restroom. If you don’t eat meat, the whole “evacuation” process is incredibly efficient. Seriously, you won’t get past the table of contents in Real Simple. Also, I missed hamburgers and hotdogs. Veggie hamburgers are ok. Veggie hotdogs are an abomination. And veggie bacon should only be served to the most heinous of criminals or as a means of enhanced interrogation. I cannot stress this enough. If veggie bacon were human, it would be the anti-Christ. Buy it and share generously with the ones you hate.

3. I’d give up coffee, as I have in the past, but I would just replace it with tea and I drink tea the proper british way, with cream. So, there’s not much difference. (I also put jelly in it on occasion. Try it. It’s yum.)

4. TV. Nope. It actually inspires me to write on occasion and I don’t care for the silence in the house when I am about doing laundry, cleaning etc. I find it distracting. Now, when I write, the house is quiet. Wait, no it’s not. I have a diffuser going with essential oil stuff in it. Also, we have cuddle family time and watch cartoons quite a bit. So, my family would suffer for this one.

5. Caffeine. (see #1) After about two days I’d be reduced to crouching in a dark corner and hissing at anyone who dared come near. If I could stay awake long enough. Not that either fact would stop my family, or my embittered cat, from bothering me. None of them fear me adequately or respect my need for sleep.  

6. Sweets. Yeah, I’ve done that and it’s pretty stinking effective. I find myself pining for sweets. And, on Sunday mornings, no sooner do my feet hit the floor than chocolate hits my mouth. I throw it back like TicTacs! By noon, I look like the Augustus Gloop from Willy Wonka (see pic) and am thoroughly disgusted with every manner of sweets. But, by Wednesday, I’m over the repulsion and want my little bit of Dove, which ironically, I eat enough of to actually mold a literal dove. This is the one toward which I am leaning.

7. Make-up. Not on your life. I must have my concealer, otherwise, people cover their nose and mouth when I come near fearing I’m contagious with whatever is making me look how I do. Cannot stress this enough. Those of you refuting this have only ever seen me with make-up.

8. BJJ, Muay Thai etc. Um, no. The Lord led me to martial arts because He knew I’d fall climbing up a water tower with a gun. 

9. House cleaning. Now we’re getting somewhere! Yes! I should stop cleaning. But…then I would just have to clean on Sunday which I desperately try to avoid now. Ugh! This one is out.

10. Liquor. Yes. I will give that up. (That’s a joke. I don’t drink. I don’t like the taste of anything and I have the tolerance of a newborn. It’s ridiculous. Half a glass of wine and I will happily curl up and snooze.)

 It’s a thinker, this one. If you have any suggestions, please, peck away in the comments. I will let you know what I decide. If it’s numbers 1, 4, 7 or 8. you’ll see it on the news way before I blog it.

Why We Love Daryl

     In the first season of the Walking Dead, if you had told me I would love Daryl as much as I, and millions of Americans, do, I would have asked if there was another Daryl. Yes, I knew of the guy who appeared and behaved as if he were hoping to be cast in an updated version of Deliverance. The only thing that kept me from hating him was his abhorrently racist brother who made everyone around him, including Daryl, seem more charming.  

But, somewhere along the way, that grungy headed rube became our go-to guy. Yes, of course there’s Rick, with all the morals and values that we expect from a hero. We’ve always known we could count on Rick and sadly, that works against him as it can all heroes. More is often expected of him than what is even super-humanly possible. Rick should be the leader. Make a check-list of all the qualities a leader should have and his character will leave a tick by every single one. Daryl? Not so much. But, ironically, that’s exactly why we all love him.

 Daryl Dixon is an anti-hero: everything a hero shouldn’t be and yet nothing less than what’s needed at the time. You pull for him, despite him. You want him to win although he deservingly should lose. He’s, seemingly, in it for himself. Ultimately, his goal is good, but the path he takes to get there is brutal and ruthless. No ideal, no societal standard, and no fellow human (regardless how innocent) will stand in his way. He’s the Han Solo, Walter White, Nurse Jackie, the girl with the dragon tattoo (Lisbeth Salander) and Batman. (You can argue that Batman is a hero all you want. But, whether we like it or not, Batman is in it for vengeance. Yes, he keeps Gotham safe but not so much because he doesn’t want another child to become an orphan as the fact he is one himself. He’s deeply scarred, emotionally off and a lawbreaker. And, like Daryl, that’s why we love him.)

 We love anti-heroes like Daryl because they are flawed, wounded and, as such, completely accessible. They remind us that it’s ok to be messed up, tattered and torn, that our mistakes, our wounds, the cruelty of past circumstances are not who we are. But, they can make us into what we should be, what everyone needs us to be and nobody else can be because they aren’t as completely jacked up as we are. Anti-heroes are survivors which, by definition, have been through something that required them to survive. They have chosen to move forward despite the easy alternative of standing still, taking it, wallowing in it, letting “it” become their identity. We may not like how they chose to do it or what they became as a result, but we respect the fortitude both required.  

 Does it take fortitude to be the good guy? Yes, of course. But when the hero has won the battle, the fight is over until another arises. In that time of peace, his strength of heart and inherent goodness don’t come into play. The anti-hero never stops fighting because he has to fight the inner demons as well. Even when the anti-hero is static, internally they are wrestling with everything that made them who they are. And, on some level, they are eternally trying to make peace with that fact, the fact that, as much as it sickens them, they have to look at that abuse, that horrific injury, illness, accident, incident and time in their life that had to be survived and say thank you. Thank you for burning me until you forged me. That alone is damaging. And, a thing to which most of us mere mortals can completely relate.  

 When everything has gone wrong, we can count on the hero to save the day, to inspire us to be a hero ourselves. But, only the anti-hero, only Daryl, can make us believe that we  actually have the potential to be one. That we don’t have to have a cape or be from Krypton. We don’t have to be the best looking, the quickest, the smartest, the one with the cleanest record. All we have to be is the wreck we are and willing to take the shot. And, if we miss the shot, it’s ok. Nobody expected us to make it anyway and nobody will depend on us to make it the next time. But, sooner or later, we, the anti-heroes, will hit the mark and everyone will see us for what we are: everything we need to be to do what needs to be done. When all seems lost, we won’t back away. We’ve been lost, we’ve done lost, and lost, lost to us. We will shake off the dust, pick up our cross bow, and keep on walking. It’s who we are, it’s how we became who we are. And you can count on us to be that person no matter what because it’s all we know how to be. No cape required.

Oddman Sample

This is a portion of my short story that just came out in the anthology, Out of the Storm. The book includes short stories

from several genres and was part of a writing contest. All entries had to be under 6K words and include a storm, thus, the title. The proceeds from the book help fund a scholarship for writers wanting to attend the American Christian Fiction Writers national conference. My entry was in the spec fic genre (sci fi). One reviewer said it was too violent for her, another said it was a little too Avatar. Both of which made me very happy.

This is as much of it as I can include.  

“Oddman”

by Carla Hoch

Third Place – Speculative Fiction

“Toxic rain. Just one of the many disadvantages of living
on a planet less evolved than you,” Oddman grumbled. He
wiped streaks of noxious water off the visor of his helmet
with his sleeve. The wretched bio-suit was bulky, hot, and
rendered the fine bristles on his fingertips useless, making
it that much harder to climb trees and harvest fruit, never
mind walking, running, and simply looking around. The
last three were a real issue, considering the vlezguite. They
were fast, ferocious and highly skilled at ripping a being in
two. Given the opportunity, Oddman would choose a
lighter suit. He’d rather risk being burned by acid than
ripped in half.
Someone called his name, his true, given name, the one
he was unable to pronounce. ‘Oddman’ was as close as he
could get, so the nickname had stuck.
“Got room for another?” His picking partner held out a
fruit.
Oddman checked the bag strapped to his back, then
extended a hand through the branches to take the orange
citrus. Before putting it in his sack, he, without thinking,
held it up to his helmet and sniffed.
“You do that every day.” His buddy threw a rotten fruit.
Its bright, pulpy insides smashed against Oddman’s visor.

“Out of the Storm” Anthology 31

“I like the smell, ok?” He scooped a chunk away and
flung it back through the branches, then laughed.
His partner hesitated and twisted his mouth the way he
always did when he mentally navigated through Oddman’s
speech impediment. “Ah, yes,” he nodded. “If only you
could smell it every day. If only it were in the filtration
system and every single thing in the dome reeked of it.”
Oddman rolled his brown eyes. “Not the same.”
“And, if you could smell through the helmet, you’d
smell the rain.” His partner paused to pluck, then hand
Oddman, another sunfruit. “And if you smelled the rain…”
“And if you smelled the rain,” Oddman mocked.
“You know, you ought to talk like that all the time. It’s
way more intelligible than your regular speech.”
“Shhh.” Oddman held up his hand. He looked through
the trees, narrowing his eyes. “I saw something.”
“What is it?” His partner widened his already large eyes
and gasped dramatically. “Not… Kfonyls?” He feigned a
silent, terrified scream.
“Hard to tell. I’ve got sunfruit on my visor.”
“How’d that happen?”
“Can’t imagine,” Oddman smirked, then tipped his
head back to allow the rain to wash away the pulp. “But, if
it were Kf…” He worked his lips and tongue, trying to form
the word in his oddly shaped mouth silently before saying
it aloud, but then gave up. “If it were slave traders, you’d
be safe. They wouldn’t want you.”
“Oh, what then? Rippers? You’re paranoid, Odds. We
haven’t seen one in a month. They’ve migrated.”
Oddman scaled down to the branch below and adjusted
his night vision.

32 Carla Hoch – Oddman

“You and your weird alien eyes.”
“They see better than yours.” Oddman squinted to focus
through the rain. “Harvey, I know I saw someth-”
A piercing scream cut through the darkness. Oddman
and Harvey looked at one another.
The alarm sounded. It whirred with a waxing then
waning moan, calling the dozens of pickers to the ground.
They jumped from the trees and ran, some for the vehicles,
others directly for the hologram of swarming insects in the
distance that marked the concealed entrance to dome.
More screams, then a roar sounded through the din of
the alarm. Harvesters jumped from the very tops of the
trees. Before landing safely, sharply hooked claws reached
out and snatched some, pulling them back into the orchard.
“Come on, Harvey!” Oddman pointed. “The vehicles
are leaving.”
“I can’t, I’m caught on a branch.”
“Cut it.”
“I’m trying,” the being cried back. “The picking knife
won’t go through.”
A thud sounded at the base of the tree. Oddman looked
down and recoiled in horror. The head of one of the pickers
lay face up, looking at him, its iridescent blood glowing
faintly for just a moment before the vestige of life faded.
“Harvey!” Oddman shimmied up and stabbed at
Harvey’s snagged suit sleeve with his own knife.
The being grabbed his wrist, trying to stop him. “It’ll fry
me, Odd. Stop!”
“You might survive the rain.” Oddman slapped his
partner’s visor. “But you won’t make it from a ripper.”

The Cookie Dough Story

In my last installment of Blogging by a For Dummies, I covered another gem of advice offered on the internet (which means it has to be true and correct) which was Get a Life. The idea was to lead a life interesting enough to blog about. 

In short, no. I don’t want an interesting life. However, it was brought to my attention recently that I have some interesting stories to tell. The first I covered last week with the whole tapeworm thing. The one I shall share now was oft requested when I taught high school. I’m not sure what possessed me to tell it the first time but, as I said last week, it became something of legend. 

So without further ado…

The summer before I was a junior, my cousin Holly and I stayed at her uncle’s beach house in Perdido. It wasn’t far from our house. Maybe an hour. 

One night we got the munchies and went to the grocery store. Because I was young and had the metabolism of a humming bird, I got the bright idea to get a long tube of cookie dough. 

So, got it we did. My cousin Holly had the wherewithal to just eat a little. A spoonful or two. Me? Ah, heck no. I went all in. I cut that sucker in half, twisted it in the middle and as the cold heap of raw dough was squeezed out, I horked it down. It was a disgusting display to be sure. (To my credit, I wasn’t a drinker. I didn’t go out and party and the thought of getting drunk at the beach house never occurred to us. I was a good kid. Just stupid. I’m saying all that to feel better about eating that hunk of dough with the veracity of a baby goat.)

The next morning, I was on the beach early, just after breakfast. As I lay there, the sun beating down, the gulf winds whirling the heat like a convection oven, I started to feel quite ill. Nauseated. And, it just so happened, my stomach was swollen and becoming more so as the hot day blistered on.

By lunch, I looked like a bloated fish and felt like one too. As soon as I could, I got home, on the couch, and curled up on my side with a square dish pan. (I have a thing about vomiting in toilets. Can’t do it. See post, Call Me Ick Fish) And, I waited. I didn’t know what was going to happen but it was definitely going to happen. Whatever it was.

Around 8:30, it began. I sat up, leaned forward with a heave, and a horrific chain of events was set in motion. There was no going back. The Kraken was released and by golly, it sought vengeance. I strained, I shook, and behold it came forth. The dough. The damned dough! It surged up like a fist from my gut and poured out of my mouth like I was a human frosty dispenser until finally…BLURP! The massive glob of undigested, partially cooked dough plopped down into the dishpan in a single gelatinous heap of abomination. 

As soon as it was over, I lay back and fell asleep exhausted and sweating from the birth. Whatever my mom did with it, I hope it involved burning and prayer. Pretty sure I still have PTSD from the whole thing. Whenever I see a tube of cookie dough, I hear mortar fire and hit the floor, covering my mouth and clutching my stomach.

And there you have it folks. Let this be a lesson to the kids out there. The warning on the cookie dough tube is for reals. Don’t eat it raw. Or, at least, not half the tube.  And certainly don’t do it then go lie in the sun like an idiot. Without question, that monster will come back to haunt you.

Better Blogging #4 - My Tapeworm and Me

If you're just now joining the show, this is installment four in my Blogging for by a Dummies series. I have been consulting the internet for advice on improving this blog.

Suggestion #4: Get a Life!

This was an actual suggestion on how to make your blog better. The idea is to get out and live a life interesting enough to write about. Don’t even. For real. Don’t. You know who has an interesting life? People on erectile dysfunction commercials. Seriously, watch them. They are taking baths outside, dancing in gardens… You want to read their blog, you have my blessing. Then forward me the link.

By the way, how much more manly can they make those guys? They are fixing cars, using heavy machinery, they’re all but dragging a woman by the hair back to their cave and shooting testosterone like lighting from their eyes -which are all nestled in a head that’s full of sophisticatedly graying hair. 

We get it, ok? You are manly despite your “situation.” Nobody said you weren’t. By the way, from the commercials, I would assume only super attractive 50 something year old men struggle with this and they are all married to supremely beautiful women! So, if you’re a completely normal looking human that doesn’t dance around while putting away groceries, you are in the clear. (Phew!) 

 I'm ok not having an interesting life. I'd rather lead a quiet one, mind my own business and work with my hands. (1 Thess 4:11-12) If in that peaceful existence I happen to make it up on stage at the Price is Right and win both final showcases, so be it. (For the record, I would be so happy that I’d roll around on the floor and flail like a fish out of water.) 

That is not to say I haven’t had interesting episodes in my life. I made the mistake of telling two of those to my former high school students. They became something of legend that I was asked often to repeat. One had to do with me having a tapeworm. (The other with me eating an entire tube of cookie dough. I will address that at another time. If ya know that story, don’t spoil it!)

Yes, I, a healthy, college aged woman in a 1st world country, had a tapeworm. I nicknamed him Gus. (Gusano means worm in Spanish. Thus, Gus.) I don’t know exactly how we met, Gus and I. To get the particulars I would have had to present a segment of him to the CDC. However, when I learned of Gus’ residency in my gut, I didn’t make conversation and I certainly didn’t get a sample of him. I just flushed. I will leave it at that.

Leading up to the discovery of said squatter, I hadn’t been doing well. I was young, 18, very active. I played year round inter murals and was a cheerleader at the university. But, I looked bad. I had circles under my eyes, my color was off and I was losing weight. The later was a real tell-tale because I ate like a horse. One day during lunch in the cafeteria, my friend Jason commented on the fact that I ate more than him. This guy was lifting weights, active in sports like me and ate as only a 19 year old guy can. But, I could match him bite for bite plus one. And, I was hovering at around 100 pounds.

Anywho, I got myself to the doctor. My friend Clancy, who to this day laughs about it all, drove me. (I sent her a text while writing this and asked her if she was the one who drove me when I had the tapeworm. She said I won for weirdest question of the day.) I told the doctor about my tenant and she got the giggles too. Mind you, I wasn’t laughing. I had a parasite in my stomach! Don’t get me wrong, it was nice that somebody was enjoying the fact, but I was not. At all! 

Growing up, I remember my great aunt talking about somebody having a tape worm. To get rid of it, she starved herself for days, then sniffed a bowl of fried chicken. The thing reportedly came out her nose in search of something finger lickin’ good. Her nose, people. HER NOSE! Now, I have made clear how I feel about bats. (See post from June 2014 - My Red Roots)I f a bat ever gets caught in my hair just kill me ‘cause I won’t come back from it. My mind will be unsalvageable. Same goes for a worm coming out my nose! Just. Kill. Me.

The doctor finally got it together enough to get out a Physician’s Desk Reference and look up what concoction to prescribe. It was in fact a poison that had to be ordered from the CDC in Atlanta. It took 5 days to be mailed in. (There was no Amazon Prime in the early 90s.) When I picked it up, the pharmacy tech gave it a double take, recoiled, then handed it to me as if it were a live grenade. Later, I would find that to be a completely appropriate reaction.

It wasn’t just a single pill. There was a whole protocol. I took a pill, then an hour later, two pills, then an hour later two more. Something like that. It was crazy. The doctor told me that I needed to have somebody check on me and to “be ready.” I wish I had asked her elaborate. 

So, I got a trash bag and got in bed. (I’m not a toilet pucker - see post Nov 2014 Call Me Ick Fish - and I assumed that would happen. It did not. Oh, that it had.) Now, this was college. I shared my restroom with other folks and the quarters were small. This was not going to be something I could keep a secret and I wasn’t even going to try. I imagined it would be as futile as using potpourri to combat tear gas. 

My suite mates were aware of what was taking place. I fessed up to them pretty quick about it all. And, like everybody else, they got a good guffaw. They even planned on leaving tapeworm-esque items around so I would wonder if perhaps I was the mothership for a homecoming. Thankfully, after my hysterical crying, they chose against it.

Took the first pill, turned on the TV, (black and white) got in bed and waited for the bomb to drop. Nothing. Big relief. Took next dosage. Much the same. Took third … and yea verily the battle did ensue! My body literally doubled over with the contraction of my stomach muscles. It wasn’t pain doubling me, my body was bending me on its own in defense of the strike. I am not joking.

I was going to attach a pic from "the alien in the gut scene"
but all of them were just too ... they were too too! If you've
seen "the scene" you know what I mean. This however
is illustrative of how I was feeling at that point!

My stomach whirled like a smoothie machine and I think the pain hit around then. I was waiting for Ripley, Bishop and the rest of the crew to run in and catch the critter when it burst from my gut because it seemed like it would. (Alien. Look it up.) This went on for what seemed an eternity until my insides were evacuated with extreme prejudice.

When it was all said and done, I was exhausted and many pounds lighter. My stomach muscles ached for days and I walked with a hunch to assuage them. Also, I was just plain too weak to stand. But, slowly, bit by bit, I got better. No fried chicken needed.

The End.

(I’ll tell the cookie dough one soon. Promise.)