In a tiny nutty shell

Things that spin make me sick. They toss my body about, but I am not a bouncy ball. I do not bounce. My stomach drops through my feet after a free fall from mouth to toes. But I cannot resist the whirlytwirly rides. I lie in bed and my blood swirls in my veins to slow like a merry-go-round. Queasiness overwhelms when the exhilaration of my gyroscope adventure is replaced by erratic pulsation. It consumes my body. Launched into a sideways world, my feet tumble underneath me. The cold asphalt hugs my body and sucks away the urge to die.