the Ganges river delta, in your toilet bowl

Now into day four of a particularly nasty little bug, I think I may have seen it all; there has been sore throat, high fever, mild chills, neck and joint pain, wracking cough, phlegm and nausea. Also three sleepless nights, two laid waste by streaming eyes and nose, and pain when swallowing, and the third by four rounds of violent vomiting, each episode one hour between, keeping me up and shivering in anticipation of that wretched feeling, the special, bitter taste of bile for company. And then, in the early hours of today, my intestines turned into the Rio Negro (which is appropriate since I've just seen the touching and beautiful Motorcycle Diaries).

And so I feel haggard and exhausted and desperate to take a little time off work -- I've been stealing the odd nap, but really can't be away at the moment -- and yet when I looked in the mirror this morning, I saw nothing of that in my appearance. I had to laugh; if even a body can pull off a facade without the effort of a mind to guide it, then it's no wonder people still think I'm cheerful during the occasional times when I'm fucking miserable.

Roll on, weekend, roll on.