the season of vent

Yesterday I was told I am some sort of health risk.

It seems as if little things have snowballed since I’ve returned to the knowledge age. While my car is fixed and drivable, I manage to get it stuck on a three degree decline in deep snow and ice, courtesy of the never-ending blizzards of late.

After wildly rocking and revving the engine in pursuit of freedom, the car is wedged between the neighbor’s driveway and our street, nearly knocking over their blue-but-green recycling bin and tearing up precious parking real estate in process.

The plow driver, comfortable in his large and powerful truck, leans out the window and says, “What a mess, huh?” without offering help, as I’m shoveling madly and cursing internally, until Andrew runs down the street like a hero in the night to lend relief.

I creep down Wealthy to the local gas station, flooring the car in reverse just to dock it at the fuel source. Then it’s back on dicey roads for twenty five minutes to pick up more drugs to tame this resilient creature within.

Trying to get extra sleep, at 11 bells, one hour into hibernation, the cell phone rings needlessly, and at midnight, I awake suddenly and immediately scamper to the bathroom, where again, on hands and knees, vomit pours from my mouth until the stomach is empty and only the taste of bitterness remains.

I brush my teeth and return to bed, angry, thrashing to find comfort, wondering why I am full of bacteria and the world around me seems to be crumbling in little, collectively annoying rhythms.

And at this point, it is fair to say, I am wrestling with God.

Last night
Curled in a fetal position

Like an infant
With an empty stomach

Crying for mother’s milk
I cry to God

To steal this disease
Consuming body

Robbing sleep
Like a plague of old

Heal, God, heal.