Hurricanes and Vomiting

I’m at a loss to describe how it feels when, halfway through dinner, Stephanie puts her plate aside, gets up, and heads for the bathroom to vomit. It’s not a comment on my cooking, I know that. But I can’t help but feel that I’m failing her. When we go to the doctor’s office and they tell us that she’s losing weight, I do feel that, in some way, I’m responsible. Since I cook almost all of the evening meals in the house, how could I not be?

I think, perhaps, that it’s all this coverage of the hurricane that’s got me thinking negatively about everything. (That, and my predisposition towards being negative, of course.) And I’ve tried to get away from it. On Friday night, when it was just getting to be too much, I turned off the TV and came upstairs. But, within a few minutes, Stef had turned it back on and hadn’t really bothered to turn down the TV, so I could hear it all anyway. She probably figured I’d put on my headphones, but I hadn’t.

The earlier part of the day, when I was so busy at work that I didn’t have time to be thinking about hurricanes or vomiting, was quite nice. I guess I’m just not psychologically cut out for dealing with catastrophe. I guess, what I’d really wanted to do with my Friday night, having received a phone message informing me that we were going to get HBO’s Free Preview Weekend this weekend, was to sit down on my couch and watch something stupid and totally meaningless.

But that was not to be. While my wife can’t stomach my cooking, she apparently can’t get enough of this overwhelming, heartbreaking story.