This morning I came within 5 seconds of vomiting into my garbage can at work. I hadn't eaten or drunk anything unusual. It came on suddenly and after about 30 minutes the nausea went away. I couldn't figure it out.
Then the news came on (again) talking about the latest college campus shooting. And I started feeling sick again.
My logical brain says death can come in any form, at any time, no matter where you are or who you are. My not-so-logical brain looms up from the dark briny depths to remind me that my husband is now at a collage campus every day, in the particularily gun-rich environs of the Deep South.
And I feel sick.
Amazing. Through all the shootings, even though I felt sympathy, I never felt danger. Oh, I'm a paranoid bitch, make no mistake -- without my husband at home, I won't even wander my house without at least my pajamas on, and I lock the silly door from the bathroom into the family room when I shower.
But I've never wanted to throw up before. Maybe I should have.