don't kick the bucket.

I have a phobia about vomiting. I know what you're probably thinking, and you're right, this doesn't bode well for my frequent tendency to vomit. First of all, I'm not good at the actual act of retching. What I am very good at is lying miserably still in bed, praying for respite from my discomfort, and in the process prolonging the bellyache. I just can't initiate. I can't, er, bring it up. I also can't fake-burp, and I'm pretty sure the two go hand-in-hand. And to add misery to misfortune, I can't do it in a toilet. There's something so awful about the walk to the bathroom, kneeling on the cold tile, hanging my head where my ass should go, and waiting for the rain. So I arrange for the presence of a bucket, or a garbage can, whatever, with a double-bag, placed bedside whenever I retire with a burning belly. And when it finally comes, I am snuggled from the waist down under my blankets, and I never miss the target, but it isn't a pretty sight. I vomit with my entire body. I puke from the mouth and the nose, and I weep. If I've been specially attentive, I've procured a box of tissues and a glass of water ahead of time.