I think I got a bad burger at the airport in Houston. Ugh. The very idea of an airport hamburger sounds kind of gross. Anyway, Sunday evening I was feeling kind of queasy. Over the course of the night I didn’t sleep much, as my body forcibly ejected all contents from my gastrointestinal system in both directions. I had plenty of delirious imaginings, but they were mostly so abstract and weird I can’t remember much; take a bunch of academic verbiage visualized as a black metal framework twisted into non-Euclidean shapes and you get the idea. I also kept thinking how fortunate it was that my daughter wasn’t the afflicted one. I don’t think she’s barfed in almost two years. I was still feeling pretty shaky when I dropped her off at daycare Monday morning. I rode back home, took a hot bath, then collapsed into bed for six hours of deep sleep. By Monday evening I was back on solid food, though somewhat tentatively, and as of this morning I’m functioning at approximately 87%. Hopefully I will be back to writing regularly here soon, with an account of my trip to St. Louis and other fascinating details.