Every once in awhile, stress just adds up. You know how it is. It doesn't have to be anything in particular. It can hit suddenly, or just slowly grow...and grow...like a very sore zit on your ass. You know it's there, but it's out of sight so why bother.

Well, I was feeling touchier than usual this past Saturday and was not really looking forward to filming an outdoor wedding scheduled by a couple who decided 101-degree weather was preferable. They were cool, don't get me wrong. However...WHAT the FUCK IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?

Anyway, on we go. I am just a helper. I provide a third camera for this small company. Another view on many things. Most of my involvment is in post-production.

On the days like I had yesterday, I am thankful for that. I stated above that I was already slightly touchy. By my own fault, time was a tad squished and I was generally frustrated. Really wanted to punch a hole in the wall. Came close. I did get to my destination in time, but discovered to my dismay I would be making a lengthy walk to use a lobby phone, as I had left my cell phone at home. This is a nice resort, and very spread out as many nice resorts are. By the time I got ahold of the team, THE headache had started. That ebbing pain that says, "Hi there. You're eventually going to hurl."

This was at 3p. The ceremony would not start until 6p.

My favorite time during these days would be the ceremony itself. It's the culmination of what all the chaos has been about. This rule doesn't just go for the bride. Photographers and videographers look forward to this moment, too. We can finally can watch in peace while everyone else shuts up and watches. I spent this time looking through the viewfinder in a cold sweat. I could feel it all over my neck. I had already picked out the tiny path I would hike in order to quietly and quickly exit should I decide it was time to vomit/crap my pants/pass out.

Call it sheer will or chalk it up to adrenaline. Who knows. Somehow I got through it. I'm not the type to tell someone that I'm feeling like shit, and frankly, someone else's wedding did not seem to be the appropriate place to drop that bomber.

Everyone finally exited, and I made a hasty dash to the bridal suite. It was the closest place. I thought to myself, "Maybe it's just a big dump waiting to come out." I stood at the toilet, realizing that it was actually the nausea I feared. As everything finally hit, a fellow camerawoman came into the room. A quick note: we had our equipment stashed in this room. I didn't pick out the bridal suite to take a crap because it seemed like the prettiest place to do so.

Camerawoman: S., are you alright?

S.: BLAAAAAHHHH! BRAAGGGGHHHHAALLLL!

Camerawoman: Sorry I can't help you right now! My hands are full!

S.: (gasping a bit) It's cool, it's cool!

So, I was now in that "post-vomit" recovery. You know the feeling. You feel great. You just released that god-awful feeling and lost 10 pounds in 30 seconds.

I should have left then, but I'm a dumbass. And I just wanted to keep helping instead of being the Vomit Queen. The puker. After running from one end of the property to the other about four more times, hauling equipment and being the usual pack mule, I was finally able to leave. About 7 p.m., and I'm getting into my horribly warm car, muttering "Oh my god I feel like shit" when the car decides not to start. Total despair. I try one more time. The car starts, then dies. Apparently, I did not have as much gas (in the car) as I thought when I first left for the god-forsaken wedding.

Remember how I said I forgot my cell phone?

I walked back to the hotel lobby saying something to the effect of, "For fuck's sake, can't I catch a break today?" I couldn't really be angry, though. I brought alot of this on myself. But really - all this crap packed in one day?

A few calls to a particular superhero and about 30 minutes later, I was in a car headed home, puking into a grocery bag. Ginger ale, saltine crackers, and a comedy movie are usually the key ingredients to recovery after a day like this. The movie was Welcome to the Dollhouse. I fell into a blissful sleep after hurling again, weird dreams and all.

Went back to the resort today, gas can in hand. The bag of vomit was still sitting by the entrance where I threw it out the window, along with the rest of my shame.