well, I know I said I would update this regularly, but..I've been out of commission and kind of still am. Remember that little girl who brought me food? Well, she did.

See, the problem with being homeless and, I guess, any type of person, really...is that people have a stereotype about you. Her parents found out she was bringing me food. I feel as though any parent should congradulate their child on doing something to help a person out. Especially someone as young and innocent as 8 year old, Claire. She was so excited the night that she brought me food that I thought she was going to shoot confetti out of her ears if she held the plate any longer. She told me with her eyes gleaming that her parents made me a special dinner, a seperate dinner. There was a huge chicken breast and a drumstick, mashed potatoes, and a vegetable mix of green beans, carrots, and corn. I love corn and carrots, but I hate green beans. Claire sat there vivaciously next to me and watched me eat while telling me about her previous week at school while I listened intently, but focusing on nonchalontly picking the green beans out of the mix. I saved the chicken for last because it was what I was most excited about. The smell alone made the hair on my arms stand at attention and when I could barely wait anymore, I tore into the chicken drumstick like it was the last one on earth. I devoured everything on that plate and even ended up mixing the green beans into the mashed potatoes, trying to trick my mind and make me able to eat them. When I was finished, she took the plate and smiled and asked how tonight's meal was, as she reitterated the fact that her parent's had made it special for me. I said that it was very good, told her thank you, and asked her to also thank her parents. I slept the night with a full stomach, but woke up early to my stomach grumbling and turning. I quick ran into a nearby patch of trees (which had become my own personal commode) and unleashed a shit storm, quite literally. I soon felt the color flush from my face and was joined by an overwhelmingly high body temperature. I started taking layers of my sweat-soaked clothing off until I was down to my underwear and socks. I tried to walk back to my bench, but collapsed and vomitted three times. I was so weak that I just laid in the brush next to my vomit and feces and slept for what seemed like forever. Shortly after, I woke up and vomitted again, but this time I was shivering. I hurridley put all my clothing back on, while remaining on the ground because I lacked energy to stand up. I didn't even button my pants since just the thought itself was a chore. The moment I put my pants back on, my stomach started grumbling again. Panic overwhelmed my body like a tidal wave. As I stood up to move, I got so dizzy that I collapsed again and made friends with the notion of my death. The only thing I asked God for since my protection from my father was for me to not be crapping when I die. I fully accepted my fate and started to weep a little at the thought of leaving nothing, but everything behind all at once. When I was finished my second bowel movement in probably two hours, I collapsed again, with my pants down, layed in the fetal position, and fell asleep for a couple minutes. The only thing that awoke me was the realization that if I do, in fact, die right now, I won't be shitting- but will have my pants down. After adjusting myself, I laid down again and thought about who would find me, if they would tell Yolanda, if they would know to bury me next to my mother, if Claire would realize when I didn't meet her at the bench, and many other things like, for example, if anyone would even WANT to come down into the brush since the awful smell probably radiated for miles. I would rot in this spot. Nobody would know, and nobody would even care. I shed yet another tear over this thought and sat up to see if I was still dizzy. I sat against a tree for a minute or two and got up to make my way back to the bench. I felt like if I could at least make it back to civilization, that someone would see me die, and maybe...just maybe...someone would care. I slept nearly all day and only woke up once more to vomit. The next few days my vomitting and diharrea subsided gradually, but my stomach cramps remained until yesterday.

Right before writing this I had looked up my symptoms on the symptom checker on webmd and realized that the chicken that night, HAD been a little gooey. I had gotten salmonella.