I was sent home yesterday by one of the camp’s august medical experts after having shat in multiples of 5 for the last few days. All was well, I thought, until I returned to camp, had a sandwich whereas a four hour count-down began to colonic destruction.
Normally, I wouldn’t mind being sent home, except for I have no bed (it’s at camp), no air conditioning (we’re cheap), and no amazing computer (it’s at camp). I arrived at home, scared the shit out of my brothe’s friend in the garage, and was promptly visited by my mother who didn’t otherwise know I was home. At this point, I was sweating over a bowl of hot soup, using my laptop, while my mother kept talking about her damn new house. I really wanted to go back to camp.
Later, after my mother had asked me to see her tree fort (as I call her new house) two dozen times I went to play Team Fortress 2, thinking my brother’s computer would do. 22 inches on a dual core is nothing compared to 30 inches on a quad core. I really wanted to go back to camp. My dad arrived later, said hello, and I rolled my eyes when he proposed we have a quality family meal…. from Taco Bell. I figured if I was going to shit like a firehose I should at least have an excuse. He then asked me if I would be home for a day or so. I said yes, and he told me to mow the lawn. I really wanted to go back to camp.
I went to bed last night in my room that was covered in stuff that had been put there thinking I wouldn’t be back for a month or so, and cleared space for an air matress. I did, and it leaked, from like four different spots. I figure I’d try it and woke up 90 minutes later to a scene that looked like a bad rip off of “Death Bed, the Bed that Eats People” as I sink into the vinyl chasm. I repeat the re-inflation/absorption cycle a 1/2 dozen times before my brother pokes in, says “the bed has a hole in it” and tells me to pick up a package for him in Langhorne.  I really want to go back to camp.
If I have to fake health with enough Imodium to constipate a sperm whale, by God, I will.
