Losing the plot (Florida journals)

Too many surprises this morning—after having to feed the cats stinky canned catfood, before my tea had kicked in, and my stomach went south—and that was it. One atrocity I could prepare for, but not three in a row. The crowning glory, I found what I thought was a dead cockroach snoozing in the middle of the dining room floor. I went to scoop him up with a large post-it, and he scurried off. 

I have to keep reminding myself of palmetto bug is not a German cockroach. He’s a member of the cockroach family, a.k.a. an American cockroach. I did not see any evidence of red MAGA hats. And I don’t know if he voted for Trump. but he did flip over on his back and danced the the whirligig watusi before he scurried off. He didn’t say much of anything as he headed off towards the bar, wildly waving his long antennae, perhaps looking for a stiff drink. OK then. 

Fighting a little revulsion there. Now I need a stiff drink. Oops, I discover an American cockroach is not native, it hails from Africa. Another immigrant. At least it did not speak German. So, now I don’t know if it was a native palmetto bug or an unAmerican cockroach. Just didn’t have the heart to step on it. Besides I was barefoot, and I haven’t yet had my morning tea.

So, a little sucker came out from under the bar for another visit. This time I was prepared. Flyswatter in hand. Whap! That’s one dead cockroach. How many more million to go? I feel queasy, oh, so queasy am I. Urg. So much depends upon my weapon of mass destruction, a red fly swatter on the table, next to the fruit bowl. 

I am gaining so many new skills. When I went outside to feed the cats—I mean, it’s bad enough to have to face dirty cat bowls, or cans of cat food in the morning on an empty stomach before having my cup of tea—I was greeted by cat barf. My stomach is winning the queasy battle. Bilious stomach score 3, equilibrium score, zero. Add jet lag and whacked circadian rhythms to the bilious mix. I could do without the vertigo and headache. Tomorrow I will be fine.

Unfortunately, once it arrives, there is no way out. When I was young I had to ride the bus to school, and if I ate breakfast, it was all over (me) for the rest of the day. Similar to the twin maladies of carsickness and seasickness, the finicky stomach rules the day. I didn’t get enough sleep, which didn’t help, and all the grossities of the morning bested me. If I don’t pay attention, then I rue the day. In this case, it had to do with a combo of unpleasant things before I was fully awake. And jetlag.

But yes, I do get terribly carsick unless I’m driving. I have been queasy while on the ocean but it’s rare. Usually because I’m in a sailboat and the breeze helps. Motion sickness is a real thing. One time my former partner did not believe that I get carsick, he thought it was all in my head, and so he ignored my urgent pleas. Ulp. Sitting in the back of a car is treacherous. I have to sit in the passenger seat and pretend I am driving. Drugs don’t help. Dramamine makes me comatose. A valium and I am on the floor drooling out of both sides of the mouth. 

The only time I completely lost it and got the dry heaves was when we were salmon fishing and I made the mistake of going to the bathroom. And that was it. I lost sight of the horizon and I could not convince myself one way or the other which was which. 

What was funny was that I was doing a story for the paper on a contractor who took people from the Forestville halfway house out on the bay to catch fish every year. I did catch a salmon, but somebody else had to help me reel it in because I felt so bad. I remember being off Potato Patch Shoals watching the Marin Headlands lurch up and down. Once I lost the side of the horizon I was done for.

I think I need to lie down with Buddy the cat who comes over for a little scratch and a head butt, he is scent marking my iPad with his goopy eye, and he wants to snuggle, this is a first. I guess I am finally being accepted. Even the gris-gris cat outside wanted a scratch. If only my stomach would settle down. An opossum came during the night, leaving strange little starfish paw marks on the patio tiles. At least the raccoon cleaned her bowl. Small mercies. I think I may need to resort to a PeptoAbysmal chaser.