Dearest Rachel –
You might look at that title with some measure of puzzlement; “Don’t you mean ‘spilling your guts, honey?” And to be fair, that’s a much more common expression in the English language vernacular, so I can see why you might think of it first. But here’s the deal, honey; after over five years of the raw, unvarnished truth of what I’ve been doing, thinking and feeling since you had to leave, I would ask you, when have I not been ‘spilling my guts’ here?
No, this is a completely different expression I’m talking about, and once I get to explaining it, you’ll probably remember both the source and the approximate definition behind the expression (especially since it turns out that I rather bollixed up the meaning as officially recorded).
I’ve spoken in the past about terms, phrases and quotations we used to use as part of our own unique lexicon; some were actually of our own devising, but most of them were gleaned from elsewhere and cobbled into a mental dictionary we shared between ourselves (and occasionally Daniel; more so now that it’s him and myself). Most of the gleanings were a word or two from this source, a quote or two from that, but for all that I’ve been studying colloquialisms even going back to before you and I met, we never used much from any actual reference books (although to be sure, reference books – even those on slang – tend to be by their very nature to be rather dry; they aren’t exactly light reading). I think the closest might have been a term from a book on college slang – “location joke,” where “you had to be there” – and even that has a specific set of circumstances behind it.
In fact, most such terms involve certain activities that we either didn’t engage in much or didn’t really talk about a whole lot. This particular expression comes from a tome of British slang, assembled from years of issues from what I believe to be a comic ‘gentleman’s magazine’ published over there…
…but most of the words and phrases refer to drinking and getting drunk (and the inevitable aftermath), as well as a fair number having to do with finding girls while out on the town, and what one might do with them once they’ve been found. It’s amusing enough to peruse, but not generally the sort of things discussed in mixed company, particularly the sort of company we would surround ourselves with, as a rule; mostly because the things being described simply weren’t things we would do or use.
But then, there are the terms that describe certain bodily functions that are common to all men (and women, no matter how much most of them may claim otherwise. Oddly enough, you weren’t one of those women, which is why I asserted for years that you were a ‘guy’ as opposed to being a ‘chick’; you had certain sensibilities that allowed you to accept and even laugh at things that were more stereotypically in the male domain). And that’s where this expression came from, although you’ll see that I got the definition wrong when I was dealing with it. In my defense, I will claim that I was up in the wee hours of the night; I can’t be expected to be thinking clearly at such an hour.
Enough prologue, I suppose; time to explain what happened last night; although while I can tell you what happened, I’ve no real idea as to the why. I’m sure it had to do with what and how much I’ve been eating, but I’d be hard-pressed to identify what, specifically, I did or overdid, so I could avoid it in the future, which is a bit of a pity.
In any event, as I was settling in for the night last night, I was aware of a certain sense of unease; an upset stomach. It’s that kind of sensation wherein you wish you could take a pin to your midsection, and prick the bubble inside of yourself like some kind of escape valve. It’s that uncomfortable; you’d be willing to stab yourself, and consider that to be a form of ‘relief.’ But with nothing like that forthcoming, I tried to ignore it, and drift off to sleep regardless.
It didn’t last; I don’t know when it was, but it was certainly still dark when my body woke me up, insisting that I get up and take care of it – now. I didn’t bother turning on any lights, but stumbled to the bathroom to deal with the situation. And while it seemed to calm matters to do so, the unease remained, albeit slightly diminished. But as with when I tried to put myself to bed in the first place, there didn’t seem to be much more I could do, apart from attempting to get some more rest, which is what I proceeded to do.
Or perhaps, rather, try to do. Throughout the rest of the night, this sequence of events would repeat four more times before I suddenly woke up to a well-lit room and a phone reading almost seven in the morning. I’ve no real idea how much sleep I’d gotten between episodes, but I’d certainly, well… dropped my guts a few times. The phrase had come to mind several times while I was dealing with it all; that, and the scene in Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five when he gives himself a cameo in the P.O.W. camp. I don’t think I need to elaborate; we both remember the passage.
Ironically, when I went to find the volume to illustrate this letter, I discovered that I’d misremembered the definition. Apparently, it had more to do with the expulsion of wind than anything, erm, tangible – and while there was some of that, too, there was more than that to my situation. Relief – real relief – required more than air be gotten rid of, which is why it took so many repetitions. As least this means I’ll be able to keep my weight down.
Now, I get that this isn’t particularly pleasant-sounding situation to be in, honey, but it’s kind of funny – silly, even – in retrospect. The fact that we had weird little words for it all rather added to that. In summary, you would have been both sympathetic and amused by it, as opposed to being grossed out; after all, you’d had to deal with similar stuff yourself, especially when we were about to travel or some such. In any event, this is why I figured I’d tell you about it, since it would have amused you. That, or I’m still punchy from sleep deprivation, and I’ll regret writing this later.
Be that as it may, honey, please keep an eye on me regardless, and wish me well. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 