The Bad Kool-Aid Flashback

So I was out-and-about the other day, and I was thirsty. So I went to the beverage case to get a bottle of water, but all they had was that "Flavored Water", you know, the kind that's clear so you think it's just going to taste like water, maybe with a hint of refreshing fresh-squeezed lemon zest, but then you crack it open and you're orally assaulted with something that's akin to hyper-sweet kool-aid on steriods? That.

Anyway, I was thirsty so I got some. And I cracked it open and took a swig, and I was orally assaulted with a Bad Flashback. You know Proust and his magdalenas? (Or whatever they're called in English? I guess I only know the Spanish word. Randomly enough, since isn't he French or German or something?) Anyway, for me, it's apparently the ghetto-water that can snap me right back...

...right back to November 2006, when I was a couple weeks shy of birthing JD, and I was puking so much from the yet undiagnosed Achalasia (or more appropriately, my esophagus was so completely blocked with crap that it just couldn't hold one.bit.more, so it sent anything I swallowed shooting straight back out), and I was so miserable, and I was so bored, staying at home by myself all day long, puking into the sink, and waiting around for something, anything, to happen. I really can't describe how miserable I was. It's burned into my head and I'll never forget it, but I can't adequately describe it. Like, just standing there, all fucking fat and pregnant, and puking into the sink. All.Day. and All.Night. long.

But the worst part, the Catch-22 if you will, was that the more I tried to eat or drink, the more I would puke (it's all so obvious now in retrospect, right). And of course, since nothing was going down, I grew increasingly thirsty with every passing day. Ergo, I tried to drink all the more. It was at the point where I would break down and cry, because I just was so thirsty. It was all I thought about. I would waddle two blocks to the corner gas station and buy a giant, 54 ounce blue Iceee, and I would waddle home and belly up to the sink. Then I would sip and spit, sip and spit. It just felt so good to get something into my throat, even if it was only momentarily. The tiny ice-bits numbed it, I guess.

I spent upwards of $250 in those two long weeks on assorted beverages. (I shit you not. Two hundred and fifty dollars on beverages in less than two weeks. I was like a deranged crack-whore. I would wander around Ann Arbor in a daze, puking into plastic bags, looking for something to drink... Must...have...beverage...now...) I tried ice teas, hot teas, juices, lemonades, bottled sodas, canned sodas, fountain sodas, seltzers, gatorades, icees, slushies, slurpees, smoothies, milkshakes, Yoo-Hoo, Hi-C... and of course, ghetto-water. I was coincidentally able to keep some of that down the first time I tried it, so I immediately decreed it my salvation. 'Course, I was wrong...

So I hadn't been hopping to drink that flavored water since then, I didn't much like it anyway... until the other day when it was my only beverage case option. And that first sip brought it all back. I know I sound completely melodramatic, and believe me, I know it's nothing compared to what others face every day. But this is the first time I've really relived it in such living color. So now I've laughed about it and now I'll get over it. And I'll raise a toast to the memories with a tall glass of DC's finest unflavored tap.