Shortly after completing last night's dispatch, I threw up. It was very abrupt: I'd had a tummy ache, and burped, but instead I threw up and as a result had to throw out all my bedding. It was very miserable, made more so by the fact that Slim and the Engineer were working all night in the kitchen with an amplifier. Anyway, it was the sort of night where the world narrows to the bathroom tile feeling cool under your cheek and a towel seeming like an adequate blanket and reciting as many limericks as you know to distract yourself between bouts of vomiting.
I took a sick day. And had I not already been queasy, Slim's breakfast - a pulled pork and scrambled egg sandwich, chocolate shake and a side of fried okra - would probably have done it. I'm on the Gatorade and broth diet.