I figured I might as well start with some serious openness and truth. Close friends know me for having an all-too-open mouth. As I’ve said before and I’ll say it again… they don’t call me Cut Throat Kirms for nothing. Yep, the strange nickname I once received as a young adult still rings true today. I’m open, I’m blunt and I’m bored, but hey, anything for a good laugh (even if it’s at my own expense).
Here in this blog I will document my travels in the most truthful way possible. Yes, of course, I will have the oh-so-beautiful, isn’t-my-life-just-darling kind of pictures and posts that we’ve become so immune to today, but I will also post those brisk, take-to-your-grave kind of travel stories that too many people are just too afraid to share. I just can’t help myself! After all, those are the really good ones right? The juicy ones.
Speaking of juicy…
After telling him the story, a friend told me, “You haven’t been to Thailand if that hasn’t happened to you once.” Well, shit. I guess I really have experienced Thailand now.
February 2nd, 2015 was a sad day. England (a boy a met whilst traveling who stayed with me in Bangkok for a while. No, that’s not his real name.) left to go back to England that morning around 6 am and I had been moping around sad all day. I hadn’t eaten much except for breakfast at the normal spot around 11 or 12pm.
Around 9:00pm I went downstairs out of boredom. I walked to 7-11 and ended up just picking up a banana and a lychee tea. I was oddly not hungry considering how little I had eaten that day. I paid no mind as I thought my loss of appetite was due to Englands leaving.
Around 11:30 I went down again. Once again, out of boredom, but this time I was convinced that I should really buy some food even though I was still oddly not hungry. I bought a stir-fried chicken rice bowl, a soup but didn’t add the water, a big bottle of Chang water and a bag of those weird goldfish-esc chicken flavored chip things.
I went back upstairs. I ate the whole plate of stir-fried chicken and half the bag of chips. I started feeling tired and ended up going to bed around 2am.
February 3rd, 7:30am I woke up in a flurry for the bathroom. My stomach with in a furious twisted knot. My body was in a heated dizzy state as I stumbled to the toilet. To my amazement and disappointment I could not poop. I felt that I needed to shit and puke and fall to the floor in death all simultaneously.
Somehow I managed to get my weak, limp, lifelessly pale body back into bed, but only for another hour until I was woken up again by the anguish of my angry stomach. I stumbled and happened upon the bathroom again. When the shit finally came it came as a burning projectile puke out the wrong end. To make matters worse, I just realized that I started my period.
NOW? For heavens sake! Now?! Why in all the moments on earth did my flower have to bloom now?
Just as I thought things couldn’t get any worse… I mean, how could they get worse right?… I felt another strange urge. Yep. The fury that had taken my stomach was purging in every direction possible. I was puking. Not the “Omg, I feel so sick. I think I need to make myself puke” kind of puke, but the straight up, can’t breathe, my body is convulsing and expelling my intestines kind of puke.
I felt like death.
Except death may have been sweeter because it comes and you don’t have to suffer through it. I suffered through this puking, shitting, period crime scene for the next 24 hours. I slept intermittently. Waking up to stumble to the bathroom as I had before.
I started to feel a bit better later in the night after receiving communication from England via Facebook messages, but even his kind words couldn’t barrage the sicknesses brewing in my stomach. He was so kind and I missed him so much. The emotional pain added to the physical pain made me queazy, but I was determined to sit up to type back to him in between laying down in the fetal position on my couch.
As I lay there in between looking through hazy eyes at the computer screen to speak to England… I saw it. Just there. In the corner of my living room. Right there. A fucking cockroach.
Really? AFTER ALL THIS. A COCKROACH?! First the furiously angry puke-shits and even after the crime scene in my pants… you’re going to send me a fucking cockroach?! Look universe, I think we got off on the wrong foot somewhere. Can we just like, go out for a nice afternoon coffee and talk this out? I’m sure we can come to an agreement. I’m begging you. Please!
I could not even bare the energy to scream. My body was too tired. All that left my weakened throat was an exasperated heave of dry, coarse air oozing out like a film of dry ice across the ground.
I want to take a moment here to help you visualize exactly how this went down.
So, there I am in the fetal position on the couch wearing only underwear and nothing else because lets face it… I’m home alone, on my period, with furious puke-shits. I cannot and will not be bothered to wear clothing. My hair is in a low ponytail with wavy, greasy scraggles of mess poking out in every direction. Today was the day I was supposed to wash it, but well, lets face it. That is not happening. I spot the cockroach. I then roll my thousand pound, cement brick of a body over and reach for a shoe on the floor next to the door. I quickly stand. I know how these things work. If you wait too long, the cockroach gets away and then you are left with the fear of when it will reappear in the probably very near future somewhere shockingly more frightening.
So, there I am. Naked except for my underpants, greasy messy hair, pale lifeless face, holding a shoe above my head rocking back and forth like a drunken teenager trying to keep my balance on top of my couch. All of the energy I had I thrust into that cockroach.
This event left me with less fucks than I had ever experienced having before. I went to sleep shortly after, around 7pm and thankfully slept through to the next afternoon.
Good health to you all and safe travels ❤