Failing - Part II

So, I woke up the next morning feeling goooooood. I was still in the place of thinking I was KSOFM and I had put a dickhead TV writer in his place the night before. Perhaps, just perhaps, the universe was finally coming into alignment for me.

I felt so good that when I got to the airport I ordered myself a McGriddle with bacon. On my current "get skinny for the wedding diet" such a meal is strictly forbidden, but I felt like I deserved it. Sure, it tasted a little funny, but I chalked that up to having not eaten any fast food for the previous month. Plus, I was going to be a huge rock star and at that point the cocaine would keep me skinny.

Anyway, they say pride goeth before a fall, and good god damn are they right.

The flight home was pretty uneventful, but I started to feel a little ill with about a half hour left. I have a nervous stomach, so I really thought nothing of it, especially since I was feeling fine by the time I got to the car. Then, about twenty minutes from home I really started to feel kind of gross. Oh well, nervous stomach again, right? Wrong.

By the time I reached my house I had a full blown fever and chills. My vision got blurry and I couldn't talk to anyone. I tried to take a shower and couldn't even stand up. After twenty minutes of this I gave up and hit the sack, where I lay wide awake and hallucinating for the next couple of hours before the PCP-laced-rotten-bacon-handled-by-unwashed-bathroom-hands McGriddle finally decided to violently leave my system, and not by the usual route.

I was in hell. Food poisoning hell.

Anyway, after copious amounts of vomiting I finally fell asleep, tossing fitfully for about five hours before my phone rang.

OKGO Tim: Joe?
Me: Yeah
OKGO Tim: You sound terrible.
Me: Yeah, I got food poisoning at LAX.
OKGO Tim: Damn.
ME: It's OK. What's up?
OKGO Tim: Well, we were impressed with your audition and really happy you came out, but we're going to go with someone local.

At this point the King fell off the top of Fuck Mountain and landed on the jagged rocks twenty stories below. And my sweet insecurity alter ego started taunting me, pointing out that I suck and never should have wasted their time by flying out there just to suck. Combined with all this was the knowledge that I had to have explosive diarrhea.

Me: Oh...I completely understand. Hey, good luck with the tour.
OKGO Tim: Thanks. We'll see you when we come to Boston.
Me: Great.

I then hung up, realized that I couldn't quit my job and wasn't going to be going on the cocaine diet anytime soon, spiked my phone and hobbled to the bathroom to have the aforementioned explosive diarrhea. I'm not going to lie, it was pretty damn disappointing.

Now I look back at it as a good experience and a good example of how I should live my life (i.e. not being so afraid of everything that I end up doing nothing), but at the time all I could keep repeating to myself was Homer Simpson's nugget of knowledge:

You tried and you failed. The lesson? Never Try.