A Storm of My Own Making
I’m pretty sure that a large brick is lodged
somewhere in my midsection, which is an extremely regrettable thing to have happen
in Cuba. It’s regrettable due primarily to a noticeable and significant lack of
toilet paper here, (not to mention a significant lack of toilet seats!) I’ve
been stuffing my face with rice, beans, and some form of meat for nearly two
weeks, and I’m quite certain that most of it is still chillin’ out somewhere in
an intestine. At least twice a day I enter into a state of emergency, eyes
searching for the nearest place to unleash hell upon a porcelain god. I have
yet to unleash anything except numerous beads of sweat and weightless grunts of
frustration. Apparently, though I guess quite fortunately, the brick in my stomach
is taking its sweet time making its way to the exit in the rear. The down side
to my predicament, of course, is that I am terribly uncomfortable: my pants
don’t feel or fit right, both my stomach and back hurt, and I’m becoming
increasingly irritable. The problem is compounded every day that I don’t purge:
food, food, and more food is piled atop an already incapacious arena, and
gravity is no friend to this situation. I think about the food shortage again.
I think about how well off I am as an American; how spoiled I am. I think about
how easy it is to get toilet paper back home; it’s everywhere. People even use
it to decorate trees. I think about how easy things are for most of us back in
the States and it sort of makes me sick. Whatever. Two things are certain at
5:04 p.m. of June 13th: it looks like it’s going to rain soon, and
I’m finally starting to understand what it means to shit bricks.
No comments:
Post a Comment