"Guilt Trip"

This post could also be titled
"A very horrible night"
"Sleeping in a Stairwell"
or
"Miserably Frightening Evening"


On Friday I went out, even though my stomach wasn't really happy with me.
I wanted to catch up with some old friends. So, I went to the bar to meet them and sipped water for a while and listened to stories while my stomach started to burn.
I lasted until about 9pm and then I knew I had to get home.
So, I hopped into a cab and curled up in the fetal position.
I needed a medicine at home that basically prevents me from puking and makes me fall asleep.

I rarely throw up,
but when I do, it's horrible.

I don't just spew.
My intestines writhe and spasm.
I heave about every 3 minutes.
I hurl about every 10.
I usually cry from the pain.

I desperately wanted to avoid this.
I just wanted to take my medicine and quietly pass out.

When I get to the apartment I see the worst thing you could see at this point:
My keys were on the table.

I texted my roommates.
New-roommate-Emily was on a date.
She was in the middle of dinner and couldn't get out of there until 12ish.
roommate Tom was drinking with the same people he was with last night, and the night before, at beerfest.

I of course figured roommate Tom would come through and help me out.

Why?

Well, besides being a friend, I have done a series of favors for roommate Tom the past few months that I had been saving up his "I owe you ones" and now had a great need to cash them in.

What kind of favors you ask? below is the list:
-picked up and paid for his laundry
-woke up at 6 AM to pay rent and explained to the land lord that roommate Tom didn't have his yet
-did his dishes, at least 10 times
-cleaned his room and set it up all nice for a girl
-gone to the store for him in the rain

There are more things I'm sure, but whatever, we're friends. Friends help each other out.

So, I text roommate Tom and ask him to come home with the keys.
No response.
I tell him I need to get in to take medicine.
No response.
I start to feel even sicker, like the puking might come soon.
I call him up - get his voicemail - beg him to come home.
He texts me finally - Gonna be a while.
I ask him to please head home instead of staying out, and explain that Emily isn't able to leave.
He tells me he's going to The Liar.
I beg him to come home instead.
He tells me to get a cab into the city and get keys from him.
I tell him I can't get a cab,
I'm about to get sick.
No response.
I try to get a cab, by now I'm feeling really weak, I'm wobbling like I'm drunk, but I haven't drank all night.
I luck out! A cab pulls to the curb, but before I can open the door it's too late -
I throw up.

The cab pulls away and I'm now crying to roommate Tom's voicemail to come home to help me.
He texts me that he doesn't appreciate my guilt trip.

I crawl into the stairwell by our apartment and spend the next two and a half hours
crying
shivering
and going through the normal throw up routine.

My phone dies.
I use my computer to IM text roommate Tom.
He finally started on his way home, but he's gone the wrong way on the subway - it'll be a while.

Finally, at around 11:45 my neighbor is walking their dog and I pop out from the stairwell and scream her name. She runs over to me and helps me up to her apartment where her and her boyfriend were kind enough to give me a sweatshirt and some tea.
roommate Tom texts me about 20 minutes later
"Opened the door, going to the bar"
I didn't see him, I just walked in to the open door, got a bucket and crawled into bed.

New-roommate-Emily came home about 20 minutes later and came down to check on me.
My old buddy Tom did not.

I haven't talked to him since.

I wasn't trying to make him feel guilty on Friday.
I was desperately trying to get help.

A mutual friend of ours reasoned, "Well, you should've just told him that you had a keg you needed help with, then he'd come help you".

I wonder if beer was locked out if he would've come to help it out.

NEW - UPDATE ON THIS POST!