Burning Chicken Soup

Ouch. My stomach burns. The burning isn’t love, courage, or anger. I am suffering from fiery bathroom woes. Each visit to the bathroom sounds like adding chicken broth to a bubbling cauldron. After glancing in the porcelain, I can only name it Burning Chicken Soup. It feels like I accidentally sat on a Bunsen burner. Accidentally sat for 4 hours, ate some butane and now have a fire out my anus.

I never knew so much liquid could leave my body. I’ve deluged the toilet at least a dozen times. The pain horrifies me, and awkwardness unsettles me. The only good thought floating around is the hope of weight loss. Sickness always is a ferocious diet. I fear drinking. I fear eating. And here I lounge on the couch, stomach full of napalm like acid, envying the dead. My only joy is Ill be an Ally McBeal look a like in a few hours.

Stomach Flu never ranked high on my list of fears, but it's contending for the top spots now. It's up there next to root canals and shopping. Number 1 or 2 on the list is chronic writers block. Why? Well.....

Summary: Oh crap.