Yesterday I ate pizza and couldn’t purge.
I excuse myself from the pizza party and go to take a shit <hit>. I have my trusty toothbrush but I need a couple of other things… privacy and time
I like to be discrete when I purge. The other toilet cubicles are full of guys crapping. We’re eating pizza at half past five and the rest of the building is still pretty busy. Workers working late and people propping up the surrounding bars and bakery leaners. It’s like a bakery with bar leaners outside. It’s still pretty packed out half after five.
So I do have to shit. And I seem to have the runs. And I expect it is something to do with the filled donuts from morning tea (my birthday shout). I eschew traditional cakes… it’s my thing. One year when I was particularly depressed and body image crisis-y I came in with a bunch of fresh fruit - mango and pineapple and strawberries and idk what else and spent about 20 minutes chopping and slicing just divine freshjuicy treats. And then I sent the usual birthday email - hey team it’s fruitCAKE in the kitchen) and people came and ate healthy delicious things and were happy and didn’t feel stodgy and sleepy and purgey later. Damian doesn’t eat cake so he didn’t come. I tried to explain the joke to him later but he wasn’t into it.
I wonder if the whole office is going to come down with the shits overnight and blame the pizza. Or if the pizza is actually to blame, and then I wonder if everybody purges the pizza…
So I kill too long shitting and feeling twitchier and twitcheir and I can’t think I have hours and hours work still to do and I;m not going to get it done if all I can think Is why cant these fucking people fuck off so I can stick the handle of this toothbrush down my throat and feel normal again and gave other thoughts. Pizza. Heavy greasy fatty pizza. Bread. Oily cheesy bread. Ugh.
I only had two.
And two donuts. This morning.
And I think that was all for the day.
But I’m crawling out of my skin.
I need the time because even if I can puke quietly I come out all sweaty and blotchy so this is no use at all.
But there are socially acceptable ways to purge. I have to do the other thing that gives me a little peace - I have to run. Run run run. Now I can’t think about anything else until I make that happen. So I leave the toilet stall and go to wash up.
And there is abdul washing up.
No fucking shit.
So I wash my hands pretty good. Twice. And he is still washing up. I think he is waiting for me to fuck off.
His eyes are red. He’s waiting for me to leave so he can keep washing his face…
And as I leave the bathroom I realise he has been in there throwing up. Nice one. Now I’m projecting this bullshit on everyone.
Anyway I only go back into the office to gather up my running gear and then its back to the washroom to get changed. And then I come back. Tarryn is incredulous - are you going for a run? <the subtext is i *saw* you eat, motherfucker, people don’t do that> and I certainly am <the subtext is run run run I can’t hear you la la la run run run>.
I run 6.5 km at 5:40 per kilometres which equals how many calories <enough>.
It is enough. I haven’t run much lately so it’s enough. I also think I’m getting sick again because the run was heavy and wheezy but that could also be the food. Thank fuck I packed inhalers because if it kicks in while I am in the fucking snow I will die. This happened in copenhagen. I came back from copenhagen coughing up blood. That was the start of the start of the lung disease trip.
I hate going on trips.
What a fortuitious thing to write - I am on a fucking plane to california-alberta-colorado-texas-northcarolina-virginia-northcarolina-california. That’s not what I mean - I *like* these kinds of trips.
I hate the trips when something comes on and you know, you just know, it is going to be <hours, weeks, months, years> of shittiness until you can get off. The buy the ticket take the ride trips. I hate the trips where you didn’t even buy the ticket.