Yesterday my friend Christy got really sick and spent the day in bed in our room. She was quite brave about it. As someone who is certain I’m at death’s door every time I catch a cold, I felt new admiration for Christy.
Then, last night, as I sat down for dinner with friends around 9:15 pm, it occurred to me that I wasn’t feeling my best. We ordered though and when my pasta dish came, it was so good that I didn’t want to stop eating despite the fact that it seemed likely it might not stay down. I justified this by thinking I would need the energy from the food. I’ll do just about anything to justify eating noodles.
Anyway, I got sick. But because I’ve had food poisoning four times this year (seriously, I don’t know what my problem is) I’ve become pretty good at self diagnosis followed by heavy dosages of prescription meds. By this I mean that I crawled into bed moaning like a baby and begging my friend Katie to bring me drugs.
They worked though. And this morning I’m fine. Christy is still struggling a bit. And we know of at least two others in our small hotel who are sick. Katie and Joanna are now terrified and referring to it as “the plague.” I think I heard them whispering last night about quarantining us, but that may have just been feverish hallucinations. (Just kidding. I didn’t have a fever and those jerks were discussing abandoning us and going to another hostel for the night. That’s right K and J. We could hear you.)
Anyway, we’ve all survived the night and are headed out for the day with hopes of surfing. I will only be eating French fries and drinking wine for the remainder of my time here because they seem like the safest. (See what I did there with the justification? I’m pretty good at this.)
