I know the moment I shook off the stomach flu: 12:30am, Tuesday, March 20. That was when my eyes - eyes that had been sound asleep for more than two hours, now - popped open. And my brain said: “let’s get at it!”
We’d had big St. Patrick’s Day plans; that’s what happens when you marry an Irish woman. But I was excited about them: we were going fun places, eating delicious and indulgent food, and who cares if I’m not a beer guy? green makes everything funner!
But, oh, then my stomach. I won’t inflict the details upon you - by “you” I mean ” co-worker who’s only vaguely familiar with me but has tracked down this blog - but I’m sure you can project a story from your own experiences that was only somewhat worse and far, far funnier to you and your direct acquaintances.
Anyway, this stomach flu kept me napping all Sunday, and quiet all today, and I came home threatening early bedtimes until the realities of life - working late, feeding the dogs, keeping the parrot entertained, cultivating my Pinboard - intervened.
Ok, so I didn’t make it to bed by 9, but my eyes were closed by 10:30. So imagine my shock when I woke up at 12:30 and my brain said, clearly, to my disbelieving body: time to do all those things we planned to do this weekend.
At 1am? On a school night? Said my body, as it tried to roll over and go back to sleep.
Yes, said my brain, affecting a proper British headmaster’s accent, to get it’s point over.
And that’s why I’m up at 1:30 working on a writing project, of which this blog is only a side effect. But at least I know when I beat that darned flu!