sicko

The last time I looked into the bathroom mirror of this house I was very very sick. I had been vomiting for about 3 days straight, including on a plane where I ate a free cracker but not the cheese it came with (I hoped the cracker would settle my stomach; was doubtful that the cheese would). Strangely, I suppose because I was eating almost nothing, my skin cleared up almost immediately after I became sick. This was probably about the nicest my skin has ever looked since I hit puberty: in early March of 2011. I didn't wear make-up the whole time I was in Wellington except for the actual day of Homegrown itself (the reason I was there).

For ages after the first day of vomiting I thought I was still sick. I couldn't eat anything. Mostly I drank ginger beer and water and attempted to eat a kumara salad but couldn't, craved coffee but knew it would fuckwivmee. Tried to drink some Momo tea with tapioca pearls but vomed it into a church garden (sorry Jesus).

Then I realised the chronic scrunching feeling in my stomach was actually HUNGER. Not nausea. I was insanely hungry (I had not really eaten for close to a week at this stage).

Food is important to me/my general state of happiness. My experience of that time in Wellington was considerably hindered by the fact that I could not enjoy good food. Tonight, when I arrived in Wellington, the first thing I did was go to the Four Square down the road and buy bread, avocado, tomato and hummus. And a very large bag of relatively small apples. Which feel unusually waxy.

This is not at all what I intended to write when I started out with this post.