After lushing about most of Saturday doing washing and things, I enjoyed a nice dinner with a friend at Lupa Trattoria. The bread was fantastic! This is always a good sign. We shared prosciutto e melone for starters and then I dove into a plate of Mezzelune di Pesce. It was tasty.
Trouble was, at 5am the next morning, my guts said NOT LIKELY MATE, and I spent the next, oooh, 8 hours or so watching my body expunge every last morsel of anything ever from my entire digestive system. I slept and barfed, slept and barfed (from the other end), slept, barfed, barfed (ftoe) etc etc.
Towards the end of Sunday evening, I managed to sip a little flat ginger ale that I requisitioned from the depths of the fridge. That was good. I tried to read 'Arry Potter, but couldn't. Even in my state of fainty delirium I noticed that the first book had been renamed "and the Sorcerer's Stone" instead of "and the Philosopher's Stone" for the US readership. Needless to say, I went off on a very brief conspiracy theory (that Bush has trouble spelling philosopher so had it removed). Went back to sleep because sorcerer isn't any easier.
Monday morning. 6am. Alarm. Deadline. Highway. Get to work.
Do I eat? Yes, dammit. I'm starving. So, I grabbed a Fruit Spear Express for $1.75 from the cafeteria and a cold glass of water, and consumed it gingerly. It was OK. I noticed that I could smell everything very well - hadn't had a ciggie for a while, the difference in smellosity is amazing. Still feeling a little crap.
Work swarmed around my eyes, brain, ears. Testing, writing etc etc.
Then it was lunch time! I was all hungry again (after being completely empty, this feels kind of nice.) Returned to
Commute. Now, I have to say, i'm beginning to understand why lots of Americans either eat out or order in. After an hour of getting to work then an hour getting home, it's a wonder anyone does anything in the evening. So, enjoying my Freedom, I ordered a pizza. Hell, I have the constitution of a horse, why not? Extreme Pizza. Very good. I ate a couple of pieces hungrily whilst consuming more of Harry Potter.
I glanced briefly over an old copy of The Bay Guardian, and read an old horoscope. It said something about being stuck in my chaos. All swirly-wirly around my head, dust everywhere, flying debris, my hair all-a-pother... I could either stay stuck, or pop my head out the top and survey the land around me.
That, and I haven't had a coffee for 3 days. That's the longest stint, like, ever.