the ocean

Apparently, Ian and I both got norovirus. I say apparently because we haven't been to the doctor, but our symptoms corresponded pretty much exactly with those listed on the internet. Which is, of course, the ultimate medical authority. And by "our symptoms," I mean a full evening of vomiting and pooping. As in, I lost count of my vomits after fifteen. And you know how usually you feel better after you throw up? Not with this one -- it just started the countdown to the next round. I never slept more than fifteen minutes straight all night long. And I didn't manage to find a barf-appropriate vessel every time, so there was a lot of disgusting cleaning up that figured in. I won't even mention how our classy little Aubrey decided to handle this, but let's just say it wasn't helpful. So there I was, showering filth off myself at four in the morning, gently sobbing, and praying that my stomach was finally empty. Truly fun times.

The good news is that, two days later, we both feel relatively okay. I managed some toast at lunch and a full-on sandwich at dinner. I'm sure everyone at work will be very impressed with those accomplishments when I finally return there.