Better

After 7 or 8 twice-an-hour visits to Dr. Flushy McBowlface, over which I excavated every last scrap from the half-a-pizza I ate for suppah, I managed to sleep for several hours. Then I hallucinated for several more hours (my illness was a city descending into sectarian violence, my stomach a road to the stars), tried to take a shower, barfed again, and now I feel kind of OK.

I am having a crap time keeping anything down, sadly, even the ginger ale. Some nice hot tea seems like a good idea now (even though it's a diuretic).

Also I ran out of Lysol. Gah.