So sometime (it may have been at my surprise birthday party, sadly) I picked up the dreaded norovirus. It basically ate my life starting Sunday morning (I'm still not recovered, but I seem to be better). I threw up four times in twenty-four hours, and I will not discuss the other events. Seriously, it was not messing around. I haven't been that sick in that way since I was a little kid. I managed to keep drinking ginger ale, despite the fact that I knew it was all coming back up anyway. And this morning, I've managed to eat two saltine crackers! Whoo! I can also be enough myself to post this, whereas yesterday I slept something like 20 hours out of 24, and sitting up for fifteen minutes was cause for another nap. I couldn't even manage to watch Poirot, my go-to when I don't feel well, because a) they had scenes of people eating and b) I couldn't follow the plot for more than 10 minutes at a stretch.
Si, loyal doggie that he is, apparently spent the whole day laying outside my bedroom door. He's a butt, but he's also incredibly sweet. Matt is taking care of me and helping clean up after me, which is greatly appreciated, because I don't have the wherewithal to do it myself right now. Things are okay, though. That is all.