My Bathroom Floor

It was May 1, 1974. I was lying crosswise on my bed, still fully clothed in my parka, boots and jeans. My attention was drawn to the curtains moving in the breeze in the open window over my bed. I stared at the tall pine trees that nested our new home in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, so graceful and dignified as they yielded to the wind. I moved my head slightly and realized that my face was stuck to the bedspread. I saw that I had been sick on myself and immediately the thoughts began: Oh my God, not again.