Epic Hell

So, I'm mired in my work. Waking up around 5, working from around 6 until after 11PM every night. It's been brutal. I can't recall it being this awful in years. I can't even figure out why it's so bad, other than the usual bullshit. Clients coming in late, random must have immediately crap and the ever worsening issue of amended statements from brokerage houses. All that has managed to make my days far more miserable than I anticipated.

A client came in yesterday, took one look at me, shook his head and said "you look awful."

I do.

I feel awful too.

So, yeah. I'm exhausted. I can deal with that.

This past week also saw a heat wave in the city. We hit 92 degrees the other day. NYC was the hottest place in the country. If that doesn't suck enough, we don't have air conditioning and, somehow, there was no breeze on the 20th floor. This means the office was a fucking sauna. Sweating like a pig, I sat and worked, for about 17 hours each day.

I stank by the end of each day.

Still, I can endure all this. More so since, thanks to the opressive heat, a client of mine, who is a c list celebrity, came in wearing the loosest clothing she could without looking like a tart and I managed to be there when she had a mild clothing malfunction. I was graced with a celebritit sighting. Big win. Made the sweat rivulets crawling down my back like little spiders seem so inconsequential.

Floogin endures. I have to. My clients rely on me. They need me. My family relies on me. They need me. My father relies on me. He needs me. If I can't soldier on, his income stream will slow and he won't be able to dole out money to my deadbeat brother in law and he won't be able to fund my sister's new business, much as he did for her piece of shit husband.

I endure.

Until yesterday, I thought, stress, heat, exhaustion....bring it on motherfucker.

Then I went downstairs to grab a bite to tide me over for the night. Chicken salad. The deli next door has this awesome chicken salad. I've been getting a scoop every night this week.

So, I grab the meal, head up to the office, sit down and notice a large pile of new work dumped on my desk. Fucking work gremlins torturing me again.

I shrug my shoulders, smile at the pile, mumble a fuck you to the work gods and tell myself I am the lizard king, I can do anything.

And I eat.

And I get back to work.

I hammer out yet another "must finish by the morning" return and then, the oddest, strangest thing happens.

My stomach grumbles. Odd. I just ate. I can't be hungry.

Then I feel it. Like there's a hose down my throat, I feel some liquid moving back and forth across my abdomen. I can feel it turning back and forth making its way towards my.....fuck!

GET OUT OF THERE! NOW NOW GO GO GO!!

I bolt for the bathroom. Fumbling for the keys in my pocket, I stumble, my hand, instinctively reaches for my ass. I turn the corner, racing to the bathroom and, like in some lame horror movie, my keys go flying. Nooooooooooooooooooo!! I try to catch them, I stumble again, the keys skidder across the floor. On the run, I bend and grab them, fumbling with the ring, trying to find the right key.

My hands shaking, my ass clenching, I work the key into the lock, fly into the bathroom, slam the stall door open as I tear at my belt and my pants. I sit down just as it happens.

Now, I know nobody likes to read this but, well, it's my story and I'll shit if I want to.

Out it comes. No cramps. No pain. No nothing. It's like someone stuck a needle in a water balloon. A long, steady, never ending stream. I'm literally peeing from the wrong end. Disgusting? Yes. Relieving? So I thought.

Then the sweats hit me. As if I'm not hot enough already.

Sweat is pouring down my face.

The asspee stops.

A beat passes. I hear/feel another crazy surge of liquid in my gut.

And it happens again.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Where the fuck is all this liquid coming from.

As the second (literal) wave subsides I realize the automatic lights never went on.

Fabulous. I'm in the dark, pissing out of my ass and I didn't grab my phone so I could give myself a bit of light.

A third epic blast ensues and then, for the first time in the last 15 minutes, my body begins to feel as normal as it can. I finish up. Stand up and then the nausea hits me. No, it isn't the smell. The liquid flame thrower that was my ass produced an oddly odorless napalm.

No, this nausea is something else. A burp exits my mouth. Oh god. Chicken salad, coming right up!

Pants still around my ankles, I spin around and start to bend down. As I open my mouth to get that salad out I see my sunglasses slipping out of my shirt pocket. My first reaction, "why are my sunglasses in my pocket." My second reaction, reach for the glasses. My third reaction?

Puke all over my hand.

The splash of my projectile vomiting, masked the splash of my sunglasses as they hit the soupy, nasty mix of toilet water, shit and puke.

I look down.

I can't even see them.

My hand is covered in puke.

I've got no choice.

I'm going in.

I close my eyes, say a quick prayer to whatever demon is watching me, laughing his red tailed ass off, and thrust my hand into the mess.

I swirl my hand around, reaching as deep as I can. They're on the bottom, in the hole that leads to shit purgatory.

I'm not going in further, no. I'm practically up to my elbow in it and my fingers are grazing the edge of the frame. I manage to move them up a bit and then I grab them.

Now what?

I should abandon them. I know I should.

But I love them and I haven't the time to get new ones. Besides, what if they don't make them anymore. It took me forever to pick these out.

I slowly slip my arm, my wrist, my glasses clenched in my fist, out of the slop. Bits of puke and shit