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Waking up in a Pool of Shepherd’s Pie

Here’s the story of a cold hosing, myself, and an untold time travel caper.

Have you ever woken up in a pool of your own vomit? Some would argue their life has fallen down a rather large hole if such ever happens, but to be fair, I was seven. And I do know that children in the north are given alcohol occasionally, but there was no booze involved. Well… this time, at least. It has to be the worst night of my life, even worse than that time I time travelled. Long story. The problem was that I was so darn weak, pale and shaky that I couldn’t shout for help. My voice had gone completely. And I couldn’t limp out of bed, either. It was a bunk bed, thankfully, with no one underneath. That would’ve been one unpleasant waterfall. Since it was the middle of the night and since I’d spewed up most of my insides, I drifted off to sleep only to be found in a state I can only describe as ‘half-dead’ by mother in the morning after I slept in. “Help…” I whimpered. If this has grossed you out, at least you weren’t there. I mean, by the morning it had gone all hard and crusty, but at least it made getting out of bed a lot easier. Some would argue my nighttime time travel caper was a lucid dream, but I don’t get those because I’m not a hippy…

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