I have spent the day trying to put together my thoughts on the Mexico City trip. But to no avail.
On our second to last day in the city, I came down with a nasty case of what doctors euphemistically call "intestinal disorder." Without going into detail (because Beth Smith and Nancy Miller will have a fit if I even hint at the D word), let's just say that it sounded as if I were auditioning as the specialty percussionist to perform the Overture of 1812 -- from both ends.
I have been able to keep food down the last two days, but it disappears just as fast. That makes trying to concentrate on writing more than difficult.
More than once I have dreamed of having some mild illness that would keep me house-ridden. I could then do as much writing and reading as my heart desired.
It has not turned out that way. I am dehydrated enough at most times that focusing to read is even an issue. My doctor has me on a series of pills.
To let you know just how bored I am getting, I put Star Wars: The Phantom Menace (the 1999 release that heralded the decline of the Star Wars epic) on the DVD. I needed to get some sleep, and I knew it would work. Its script (written for fourth graders) put me to sleep in the theater -- and it worked again. But this time I slept for 14 hours.
As soon as I am not losing all of liquids through the incorrect exit, I will be back. And I hope that is soon.
