Post by Alexandra Bishop on Apr 9, 2016 1:55:06 GMT
Stream of conscious, anyone? It's short because I wrote it at the last possible minute. It's bad because whatever.
Have you ever felt moderately queasy? Not enough to call out of work, but just enough that your stomach churns unpleasantly with each step? That’s what orange is like. Anything you eat feels like a lead brick nestling into the pit of your stomach, indigestible and gross, letting the stomach acid slosh uselessly against it. Orange is also really loud. So imagine that you’re already feeling nauseated, and now you’re at a nightclub. Bodies press in on you from all sides, and you can smell the sweat and cologne of college frat boys and the cloying perfume that the women wear. You still feel like shit. You still want to puke. You keep asking yourself why you let your friends drag you out of bed when you could be curled up watching Netflix or something. You’re getting dizzy from the noise now, because you’re in front of the speaker. You can feel the bass thrumming through your chest, turning your ribcage into a drum and causing that brick to jump and jostle. You really feel like heaving now, but since no one likes puking you squeeze your eyes shut. You focus on anything to distract yourself from the fluids that advance haltingly up your throat. It’s quite the battle. Heave, swallow. Heave, swallow. You take a deep breath when you win. If you lose, well, that’s orange.
Have you ever felt moderately queasy? Not enough to call out of work, but just enough that your stomach churns unpleasantly with each step? That’s what orange is like. Anything you eat feels like a lead brick nestling into the pit of your stomach, indigestible and gross, letting the stomach acid slosh uselessly against it. Orange is also really loud. So imagine that you’re already feeling nauseated, and now you’re at a nightclub. Bodies press in on you from all sides, and you can smell the sweat and cologne of college frat boys and the cloying perfume that the women wear. You still feel like shit. You still want to puke. You keep asking yourself why you let your friends drag you out of bed when you could be curled up watching Netflix or something. You’re getting dizzy from the noise now, because you’re in front of the speaker. You can feel the bass thrumming through your chest, turning your ribcage into a drum and causing that brick to jump and jostle. You really feel like heaving now, but since no one likes puking you squeeze your eyes shut. You focus on anything to distract yourself from the fluids that advance haltingly up your throat. It’s quite the battle. Heave, swallow. Heave, swallow. You take a deep breath when you win. If you lose, well, that’s orange.
