e of …dy, my face thrust into the bucket in my lap, expelling the dark liquid I had drunk an hour before. I began retching, as if from a thousand food poisonings, gasping for air, wondering if my neck — now composed of thick, unforgiving scar tissue — might break with every violent jerk of my body, or if my head might simply pop off. When my stomach felt clear, I opened my eyes to find my face resting on the edge of the bucket — an…
Love your retching lexicon. I feel your pain. These days, I’m in a constant state of nausea. Perhaps it is Hwa-Byung, a common ailment among Korean-American immigrants fleeing from a devastating war long forgotten, but brought to light by the grandson of a dictator. I digress. I am indigested.