I feel sick and tired. Normally, I can tolerate either one, but together… Gach…
After about three or four days of eating very little, I gorged myself on a really big meal I made myself. While the ingredients are lost in time and the garbage bag in the kitchen, they constantly rage around in my stomach. I think my stomach shrunk, or something (I haven’t ate much of anything lately, for some reason), but I can’t sleep. I can only sleep stretched out in my full 177-centimeter glory, and if I do that, I’m reminded just how taut my stomach is, and I immmediately feel like puking.
So, I’m sitting here, hunched over (the only position that doesn’t threaten to make me explode), waiting for enough food to pass into my small intestine so I can sleep. I feel like someone’s shoved a balloon down in my gastrointestinal welcome station, and has been inflating continuously for the last five hours.
The only cool thing about this is I can play drum solos on my stomach… It’s that stretched and bloated. So, while I’m musically motivated, let’s start an improvisational sing along. I’ll start.
(in raspy, ole’-time jazz-singer voice. Think Bleeding Gums Murphy.)
I woke up this mornin’ (ba bada ba bump)
Hungry and weak (ba bum bum bump)
Ate enough to…
Feed an army for a whole bloomin’ week (ba doo doo doo)
Now I feel sick (ba bum bum bump)
Sick as a dog (ba bum bum bump)
Why, in the name of God, did I have to eat like such a hog?
I got the bloated, distended stomach blues, oh, yeah… I’ll probably never eat anything else after this, oh, yeah, yeah, yeah…
(harmonica solo)
Don’t worry; I won’t quit my day job. Now it’s your turn to sing your blues.