I think I got a bad burger at the airport in Houston. Ugh. The very idea of an airport hamburger sounds kind of gross. Anyway, Sunday evening I was feeling kind of queasy. Over the course of the night I didn’t sleep much, as my body forcibly ejected all contents from my gastrointestinal system in both directions. I had plenty of delirious imaginings, but they were mostly so abstract and weird I can’t remember much; take a bunch of academic verbiage visualized as a black metal framework twisted into non-Euclidean shapes and you get the idea. I also kept thinking how fortunate it was that my daughter wasn’t the afflicted one. I don’t think she’s barfed in almost two years. I was still feeling pretty shaky when I dropped her off at daycare Monday morning. I rode back home, took a hot bath, then collapsed into bed for six hours of deep sleep. By Monday evening I was back on solid food, though somewhat tentatively, and as of this morning I’m functioning at approximately 87%. Hopefully I will be back to writing regularly here soon, with an account of my trip to St. Louis and other fascinating details.
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There’s been a lot of nasty stuff going around. I’m not even talking about it much for fear that the other three of us in the household will succumb.
87% are you sure it’s not 88% or 86%?! Hope it’s back to 100% soon.
i like your reference that its papa this time and not the kid.
i remember when you wrote about the times your kid was sick , when you were early into your gig as a first time dad, it gave you as louis would say the heebie jeebies.
thank you for this blog and helping me think about things in more than one way.
hope you feel well soon son.