I had a horrible stomach virus near the end of last month, which had me laid out most of late Thursday night and pretty much all of Friday. My beautiful wife got the bug, and is now reliving another bout of flu at the beginning of this month, poor girl. Thinking about all this intestinal woe, and it made me realize something about myself.
I am an “outdoor puker”. Simply put, if I’m sick, and I have to vomit, I like to do it outdoors. I don’t care about the weather; the colder, the better. I like the fresh air blowing against my face; refreshing me – reminding me that I will feel better in a matter of seconds, and that once I’m through with the current heaving process, I can relax and let the breeze evaporate the cold sweat that comes with especially violent intestinal purging. The last thing a sick person needs is to have his head inside a toilet, if they’re trying to feel better, right?
I don’t know exactly where this behavior comes from, but I can offer a few past behavioral suggestions from my past.
The first time I drank hard alcohol, I was maybe 11 years old, and visiting my friend Mike Rhino (sp?) in Petersburg, Alaska. I lived in Wrangell, Alaska at the time, so the trip was just a few hour ferry ride. We had nicked a few of his brother’s “airline bottles” of booze and headed out into the muskeg amongst the salmon berries and skunk cabbage. We drank an unfortunatly chosen mix of several of them, and after an hour or so, I was drunk (for the first time in my life) and we started to walk back to the trailer where he lived. I remember the dust, and the sun on dirt road, and thinking that I wasn’t feeling too good. Of course I puked my guts out and thereafter felt a little better. My friend and I hung out around his house, picking strange native plants, and burning them in a little fire we built, in a sort of ceremonial cleansing fumagation.
Of course when I was in high school, and after, around my hometown of Olympia, Washington, most of the partying was done outside, in the woods, fishing, hiking and such. Keg parties were held in Capitol forest, or at McPhee, a small area of undeveloped land comprising the neighborhood of what is now Capital Medical Center. Several summer parties were held there, with guys drinking cold bottles of “Vitamin R” from coolers, and throwing frisbees to the girls in their cutoff bluejean “shorts”.
I remember a camping trip, when after hiking 6 hours into the Olympic National Park, I drank too much scotch mixed with bad canned chili cooked over a campfire I found myself once again communing with the native plants. Of course I felt really good afterwards, so I looked at the stars and just enjoyed being alive.
During college at EWU, after a particularly late night of drinking, I had to take a test with a hangover on a cold wintery morning. After rushing through writing my answers in an official college “blue book” and handing them into the teacher, I went outside Patterson Hall and puked into the snow. I was always good at finishing tests early, but that day my speed was remarkable. I recall achieving a B-Minus on that test, but history was one of my easiest classes to excell.
Another example of when I drank too much and puked outside was when Alice and Chains played at Evergreen in August of 1992, when they played with Gruntruck during the APEX of the whole Grunge Rock (TM) explosion. I had managed to drink most of a bottle of Kahlua and was chasing it Coke(TM), a big mistake. Things came up quick and easy into a bush near “B” parking lot, I drank some water, and realized that puking had saved me from being too drunk to enjoy the show, which I then proceeded to do with gusto.
Anyway, I can’t think of any memborable experiences when I puked over toilets, a nasty experience from my recollection, so I always prefer to puke outside when I’m sick, preferrably in the woods or some other natural area. It always just seemed nicer.
Perhaps you just learned more than you wanted to know?