What day is it?

Christmas was nice up until the massive food poisoning.

We are in Tucson with Scott's parents; Sunday night we went to Macayo's for dinner. It was a nice restaurant, and dinner was delicious — I had a green corn tamale, Scott had a shrimp enchilada, and Betty & Bob had a chicken and beef something or other. We all shared our yummy food around (except Bob.)

Came home, had a few drinks, played cards, and went to bed sort of early (around 11.)

I was awakened at 12:30 by some sounds in the hallway bathroom which I finally placed as yakking (Scott), but on further investigation I realized that:

1) it was actually stereo yakking, the 2nd line coming from the master bathroom (Betty), and
2) I didn't feel quite "right."

A few hours later I began yakking myself. (At first I thought I was going to get off easy, with only prize-winning diarrhea, but as it turned out I was just taking a different road into town.)

Let's cut to about 8 o'clock the next morning. After having thrown up 9 times throughout the night (9 times? ...9 times.), my body continues trying to rid itself of all the fluids it needs to be alive. Although any food particles are long gone, a bitter, clear yellow liquid (deadly acid, I can only assume) is still game for being barfed up my aching, violated passages...while the only thing coming out of my butt at this point is clear city tap water.

Because I cannot keep even a little water down, I stop trying.

The dehydration which followed the evacuation was far, far worse. My muscles, of course, hurt from all the yakking. Headache. Neckache. It was other things, though, that told me I had never experienced dehydration this severe before:

- a spot pressed on my arm would stay yellow for a few beats before the blood snuck back in
- I looked like wax
- my joints hurt
- my fingers hurt
- my skin hurt. My skin...hurt.

I was turning into jerky.

Scott and Betty went to the emergency room but I declined, saying I didn't feel well enough to go. They put 2 IVs into Scott, and gave him some corkage in pill form. Bob, having never partaken of Scott's shrimp enchilada, (which we later determined to have been the culprit) continues to feel fine.

Well, I guess that was a few days ago, and here I am sitting upright. Actually, I am sitting so upright that we are going to check out a Tucson brewery today for a late lunch.

Tomorrow, Scott and I head back to Pasadena, where we hear there has been a little rain lately.

Next weekend, then, Sacramento — to visit all the family we missed for Christmas.

...and after we get home from that, the Pasadena Humane Society (so we can finally pick out a couple of little fur dudes.)

Happy New Year! Don't eat the shrimp.