The Proverbial Knot

I don’t think that anyone has accurately explained or described the sensation of feeling a knot in your stomach. Mostly because, every time I have heard it recounted I imagine a giant knot of rope (the kind that 18th Century sailors used to tote around on their backs) taking root in one’s stomach. Currently, the knot in my stomach begs to differ and I beg to challenge this classic image myself. At this moment I have a particularly awful feeling nestled in the center of my stomach that most certainly does not feel like a knot of rope. More accurately, it feels like someone took a large amount of rancid meet and, stringing it out into one long strand, looped it around itself over and over, forming a knot that would make any Eagle Scout proud. This knot has several smaller knots protruding from it, almost resembling that of a medieval mace, almost. My knot doesn’t just sit in my stomach, merely as a pesky reminder of its presence, oh no. Instead, it is bubbling and seething and slowly decomposing like a fizzy bath ball from hell, making me constantly aware of its silent activities. It also pulsates, like the beat of a heart it digs deeper into the pit of my stomach, taking root and refusing to relinquish its hold until it has completely eroded and disappeared. Age-old “stomach knot”, I hope you stand corrected.

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