I am back at work after about a day and a half spent moaning plaintively from the couch. Today’s rule is that I will stay at work as long as my breakfast stays where it belongs.

This run of health problems is bugging the heck out of me. Mike’s been sick forEVer, but at least we know what’s wrong. I was feeling flu-ey, but the worst symptoms were nausea and migraine-level headaches. Also grouchiness. I was starting to feel better yesterday and vowed to return to work, where I am never bored by maudlin daytime television.

And then I woke up a little after midnight and blew most of a small pizza into the nearest receptacle.

The good news is that it took very little time for me to just give up and vomit. (I have a history of manipulating my body to not do that and managed quite well for many years. And then I discovered The Alcohol.)

The bad news is that everything about puking sucks. All five sense are assaulted, and the mouth and nose get double-dinged with their own senses and the wretched feeling of things moving in the wrong direction.

So, after many years of having little to no gag reflex and avoiding The Upchuck, I have now puked twice in as many months; in fact, there’s almost exactly a month between the two episodes. I am perplexed. If any of you have an inkling about what the hell is going on with my insides, I am all ears.