For the last five days, I've been working hard to avoid the chunky burps. The upchuck. The ralphing. The barf. I don't know the root of the problem, but my stomach has ranged from mildly queasy to "watch your feet!" since Sunday. Grrr.
If there is a bright side, a way to see upchucking as "the glass half full", it would have to be the fact that it reminded me of a funny story from a few years ago.
I was working as a therapist at a teen treatment facility. One of the well-intentioned staff members stopped me in a little hallway outside to tell me something about one of the kids in my group. Trouble was that I was on a bee-line to either my office or a bathroom (whichever I got to first) because my lunch was begging to hurl itself out of my mouth. I tried to explain to Marv my dilemma, but to no avail. Within seconds, out she came. Barf splattered everywhere. My eyes were foggy so I'm not sure if it got on Marv's shoes, though I'd make an educated guess that his shoes needed a bath.
So during my illness, my purpose has been to not launch chunks on anybody's shoes. So far, so good.