How Hermits Suffer

No way this is going to be another episode of What Hermits Eat. Just an aside, I'm not nearly as hermited as once I was, but relative to most lives I still live one of quiet solitude, not unlike a monk high atop a mountain. Think of me as a Shaolin master. I don't even think I spelled the word right.

Anyway, somewhere along the adventures of the weekend which included a large gathering at some commercial venue which had delicious choices of fish, chicken, or beast of unknown origin, I may have eaten a wrong thing. Needless to say, all the choices which thrilled others were like offering me varieties of stone to eat. Seafood, fowl, or mammal do nothing for me. I just don't eat the stuff. Never have.

The desert pastries were great and I may have gone overboard. I think they spiked the mashed potatoes with dead critters which may have accounted for the reaction later that night.

I arrived home feeling fine, and soon not so fine. It was like my stomach had been lit on fire from within. For hours and hours it was pure weirdness. It was puffed out swollen and felt like any second would lead to barfdom. Maybe I should have forced it. Whatever the case, it left me totally wiped out, spaced out and depressed for a full day. I even missed doing work I'd planned. That means I have to really push to catch up tomorrow. The nature of some tasks is such that you can only go so fast. Oh well.

It took an hour after I felt safe and not dizzy before I could move without odd pain. Not kidneys I hope. That killed some of my family. Mostly the solitary ones, but not exclusively.

It was weird. Stomach puffed out like a basketball. My only thought was that I can't afford to jump a size in pants so I can't be having this belly bust thing go on. Luckily with relief came belly deflation. It isn't like you think. There was no big exit from any of those available which eased the situation. The fire just gradually burned out.

Should my story become one that is used to promote the convoluted health care law? "See, this poor man didn't have insurance. If he had, he could have gone to Dr Quack who would have put him on medicinal marijuana and valium."

Of course, we know that would not have happened. They would have ordered several tests, most of which would have been completely irrelevant to the situation. Then I'd go home, come back and be cautioned about cholesterol--not that it is real bad, but it could get there. They'd suggest I try Pepto Bismol, refuse to give me any recreational drugs or let me have sex with the nurse, charge tons of money and I'd feel worse for going to the doctor in the first place.

That is how hermits suffer; crying out in pain in the dead of night for no one to hear. So sad. But please, do not support any government program conceived by those who feel superior and in much better circumstances, who think they may know what is best to relieve my pain. That would truly be a disease I couldn't face.