on the couch

Woke up at 4am last night and was called, by animal urge, to the loo.

The water-closet part of our bathroom is little more than that, a tiny sarcophagus with a toilet and a magazine rack, a plunger and a toilet brush.  From that 4am visit on I decided the place could be quite homey.  Maybe out of necessity, as I was tethered there until the sun came up and then the rest of the day Sunday.

Earlier in the day it was just my gut ailing me.  I made a list of the things I ate or drank, tried to see if there was anything unique which the family hadn’t had too.  Nothing really stuck out.  Around midday I could tell I was running a fever in addition to my intestinal distress and that led me to think I was battling some bug and not just a bad bit of cheese or off sushi from Friday night.

I spent the entire day on the couch, slept for most of it.  I listened to a lot of music and drank lots water.  Somewhere in there I queued up a lot of Pink Floyd, the albums I don’t listen to much like Obscured by Clouds and Animals.  The family attended me, Keaton bringing me water and rubbing my belly.  Laying there I was wondering what was going on in my gut.  I imagine these little flagella-having viruses hammering some soft pink lining.

Couldn’t have happened at a worse time as far as work is concerned.  I have an obstacle course of a week ahead of me and don’t need to be waylaid by a stupid stomach bug.


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