#weekend 25

[marmitepasta]

Dan meets Adele during her walk through the audience as she sings When We Were Young.

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[52-weekends]

WEEKEND 25

A little past midnight on last Sunday, just as I was beginning to drift off to sleep, Paul jumped out of bed, ran to bathroom and began a night of puking.

This week's post is about fear.

I have a phobia. Most lists you can find mark it as one of the most common phobias you can have.  It's the hangup I cultivate as an adult  leftover from teen years that were choked with neuroses and odd compulsions.

Vomiting.

It's gotten to the point that seeing puke on tv, or knowing that someone drank or ate too much doesn't send me into flop sweats, give me the shakes, or raise my heart rate -- any more. But contagious diseases vomiting, the germs, the bugs, the knowing that it's coming for me and there's nothing I can do to stop it. When that happens, I cant sleep and I can't eat.

I was once trapped on a plane for nine hours with a girl in my row who started throwing up while the plane was sitting on the runway waiting to take off. On that same flight, there was a man carrying a very contagious bug. He started a few hours in, and it spread so fast that the people around him started coming down with it a few hours after he started. Nine hours, trapped.

I once did an extended family Thanksgiving for forty people at a dorm-style cabin at a State Park that was thirty miles from civilization, and got two feet of snow while we were there. Snowed in, blizzard conditions, and someone started on the second night. Within twenty-four hours, it had spread to three quarters of the people there. There was nowhere inside to go that was safe. It was like The Shining. 

Still with me? 

On Saturday of last week, we visited my husband's family for his Babci's 88th birthday party. The bug got about half of us ultimately. It didn't get me, but it did get my husband, and almost everyone else.

This post is also about how I'm a jerk when I'm in the throes of phobia. 

I got him water and ibuprofen, and I made some calls when I got alarmed at how long he was sleeping, how hard he was to wake, and how bad his fever was. I brought him chicken soup. And then I set up shop on the living room floor and slept there for the rest of the week. 

I'm pretty said something to my husband about smallpox blankets when he asked me four days late, when he was clearly better, to sleep in the bed like a normal person again.

I washed my toothbrush with soap before I used it for a week. 

These are not things that normal people do. I couldn't control my phobia for long enough to make someone suffering more than me my priority.

I feel like a bad wife.

This post is a really drag. Next week, funny crap resume. New Game a Thrones was awesome, right?