Coffee

It seems to happen once a trip when I'm overseas, an ill-fated destiny with stomach-grinding head-nauseating bacteria that puts me out for a few days. This last bout of food poisoning found me under the sheets in the fetal position praying to God that if he could just let me go this one time I'd promise not to make another selfish prayer for months to come. There must of been a long cue when I submitted the request to the man upstairs because he didn't get back to me until the next day, after having given me sufficient time to get back down onto my knees and make prayers and offerings to the others that I hold dear to my heart, including shiny white porcelein god - Mr. Toilet. That's right, 24 hours and multiple pukes later I was free of the poison. This freedom didn't come without it's costs, however, namely my disdain for everything that traveled against gravity, up my esophogus and back into the natural world. After puking I couldn't stand the sight or thought of anything that came out. This included the day old stir-fried mushroom dish that got my sick in the first place (warning: when at a Chinese university cafeteria, never pick up a dish when there's only one of it available, it's not b/c it's so popular that there's only one dish left, rather it's because it's from the previous day and no one dares to eat it!), and the 3 cups instant 3-in-1 maxwell coffee that I religiously drank these past few months while in Beijing. It's been nearly a month since my being taken out by bacteria laden mushrooms and my withdrawel from caffeine. For some reason I'm back. Back to drinking 3 cups of coffee, back to wanting to eat a plate full of fungus. It's a good feeling (or is that the caffeine talking?).