Sometimes I enjoy falling ill for a few days, knowing that I will eventually feel better. The feeling of waking up and having more energy and vitality is almost worth the pain and annoyance of a runny nose and sore throat. Almost. It reminds me of the saying, I can't remember who said it, perhaps it was Bukowski, that people who don't drink wake up knowing this is the best they are going to feel all day.

When I was 17 I had a bout of stomach flu that was that gave me the most painful stomach aches I have ever felt. I was eating chinese food at my girlfriend's grandparents house, and I suddenly lost my appetite. The sight of food began to make me ill, and I had to excuse myself from dinner. Once we got outside I told Allison, my girlfriend at the time, that she had to drive me home as I was on the verge of puking. On the way home I sat doubled over in the station wagon, groping my abdomen, praying for some kind of relief. It was like there was a hurricane in my stomach, some evil brew concocted by viruses, boiling, frothing, releasing its poisonous, foul gas inside of me with no outlet. If only I could vomit it would be over.

When I got home 20 minutes later I ran into the bathroom and blew chunks into the toilet, and the pain disappeared into the porcelain basin along with the half chewed egg rolls and pineapple chicken. The relief I felt was like an orgasm, however twisted that may sound.