stall

I've done some recollecting about this particular bathroom stall in a previous post (here) about giving my speech at the magazine launch. There really is no better warm up for public speaking then laying on the floor of a public handicapped bathroom stall, shirt lifted up so your sweat soaked back presses against the cool tile floor and praying to any deity ever that your stomach will stop trying to give birth to itself. In all fairness, this is what it actually looks like.

See that upper right hand corner? That's the sweet spot; that's where the writhing stops long enough to catch your breath and you pause and think you just might make it out of here alive. You get to your hands and knees. You don't look at the ground. If you do, you remember you have just fashioned a temporary bed out of a wasteland of human hair and drippings. On top of everything else, you don't need those thoughts swirling around in your head.

You are just thinking how goddamn incredible it feels to not have anything rushing out of you, nothing making you so weak and feral and out of your mind with pain. You get up, you sit on the toilet and catch your breath and listen to the regular girls outside that stall peeing and checking their faces and chattering and leaving, so unaware you have come back from near biological warfare with your guts and are now going to change out of your wrinkled sopping clothes into a dress.

Put blush on. Straighten your hair. Down a glass of red wine. Watch your Husband run in minutes before your speech is cued. Give the speech. Cry at the end. Pack all your things poorly in many bags while talking talking talking to Nuv about the speech, and how he met your teachers and did he like the food? how was the food? because you didn't eat a speck of a crumb and then you run to the car because it's raining and you've pulled out of the lot into traffic and then you turn to him and tell him, "Oh yeah, guess what happened right before my speech?"