Hitler Docs and Tummy Aches

I wore my earplugs last night and discovered they are penetrable by the boys’ morning rendition of “Baby Shark,” which was an encore to regular ol’ screaming from the living room about an hour ago. Happy screams. It’s like every day they wake up and it’s Christmas morning. Although I just learned there is no Christmas morning in Iceland, only Christmas Eve night-full-of-presents. I can’t imagine what would happen if they woke up to find presents in the living room in the morning. They’d probably explode. Maybe I’ll try this! (Not to make them explode, just to both be nice to them and do an experiment. Ooo maybe on Halloween, which they also don’t celebrate!)

I stayed up late last night drinking tea and watching Hitler documentaries with Magnús (the dad of the Workaway family I’m staying with—see my last post for more details), who had spent the day relating to me his 20+ years of historical knowledge and conspiracy theories, checking in every half hour or so to see if he had done any irreversible damage to my optimistic disposition. So far so good! I’m just excited to “get” history. I haven’t told him yet about how I was once a contestant on “Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader” and could have walked away with $300,000, but instead made a (less-than) educated guess about who fought against England in the One Hundred Year’s War. I walked away with a twelfth of the money and at least a month’s worth of anxiety dreams, but was reassured by my dad, who said he didn’t mind still paying for college, he was just happy I said “I don’t think France could last that long in a war” on national television.

At the end of the penultimate and ultimate episodes of the “Hitler's Circle of Evil” docu-series on Netflix, I remarked I had a weird stomach ache. “That’s called anxiety. Welcome to my world!” Magnús replied. We laughed and laughed and 2 hours later I threw up, suggesting perhaps it was more of a biological rather than Fürher-fueled ailment. I went to bed knowing I was probably going to have to throw up and was dreading it. Not only because I HATE throwing up (I really do! Let me debunk a possible myth, as a former bulimic—it doesn’t mean I thought throwing up was fun! Especially involuntary throwing up. Never something I would want. Although if I had to pick now, I would much prefer involuntary to voluntary throwing up because it means I have a healthier relationship with my body, mind, food, and life and I never want to hurt myself ever again (*knock on recovery wood*)), but also because these walls are thin and the boys sleep across from the bathroom with their door open. For this reason, I tried to put it off as long as possible, reading my Kindle, counting backwards from 100, and eventually getting a perfectly-timed 1am phone call from my mom! It was her first time calling me for the past 3 weeks. Turns out it was a butt dial.

“Did you call me, Katie?!”

“No you called me.”

“OH NO I’M SO SORRY IT MUST BE 3AM WHERE YOU ARE. GOODBYE!!”

“Nooo don’t go it’s only 1.”

“Ohh okay. How are you? Are you loving life?”

“I don’t feel good.”

“Are you sad, do you want to come home?”

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“It wasn’t the baked mostaccioli was it?”

“I haven’t made it yet. Also please don’t talk about food.”

“Got it. Got it…You’re going to feel so much better after it happens.”

“Okay yeah I’m gonna go.”

“Okay, good luck! Just remember, sit on the toilet with a plastic trash bin—cover all your basis.”

“Bye.”

I couldn’t have planned it better. In my hour of darkness I got a taste of my own medicine (AKA a boatload of optimism) reminding me 1. I am my mom and 2. This is how I sound to people. I have to admit, this was a killer pep-talk (thanks, Mags!) and it got me out of bed to accomplish the inevitable in the most silent, clean, “throwing up in someone else’s house” way I could. You don’t need me to paint more of a picture than that.

This was the dinner of I made (Apple, Roasted Almond, Bacon, Goat Cheese, Honey Balsamic Salad with Roasted Chicken Thigh and Sweet Potato Fries) that some how only got me sick?!

(I don't actually think this is what make me sick...I'm only including this photo to show off and to have something for the thumbnail when I share this on Facebook later.)

Speaking of painting a picture, I’ve been intending to paint a picture of a LOT MORE of my travel adventures (there is a backlog of blog posts in my brain), but when I sat down to write, this is what came out. So, I hope you enjoyed this slightly gross, but very real, slice of life. Showing up messy, throwing up CLEAN. I have to make that the title. But I just discovered it organically right here, so I’m leaving it in two places. (And mom, you were right—I feel so much better! Magnús still thinks this was brought on by the Third Reich.)