Barely eating

My stomach is extremely unhappy this weekend, which took all the fun out of my mother's birthday dinner last night. I haven't been able to retain anything in my system, although I'm now hazarding a banana walnut muffin (bought from Cedele yesterday before I realised how seriously ill I was).

Anyway, before I got sick, I went to the National Museum's 120th anniversary party on Friday night, which included the premiere of 120, a commissioned theatrical performance (I don't know how else to call it) about the redesign and revamp of the museum. Very postmodern, as these things are wont to be.


Since then, all I've done is try not to aggravate my stomach further. I suppose drinking orange juice wasn't the smartest move in the book, but I hate that icky taste in the mouth that comes from being sick. On the other hand, watching some season 2 The West Wing helped, mostly because I know certain episodes so well I can just sit around and wait for the punchline, which sometimes goes like this:

JOSH: You've heard.
BARTLET: About the Chinese refugees?
SAM: They escaped.
BARTLET: Yeah. Can you believe it?
JOSH: No, as a matter of fact, neither one of us can believe it, sir.
BARTLET: That detention center was being guarded by the 22nd Division of the California National Guard. Now, what does it say about our reserve army?
SAM: That 83 men, women and children who haven't eaten in two months staged a prison break.

--- "Shibboleth", The West Wing

I haven't eaten (properly) in two days and I don't think I could help the cat stage a breakout from the apartment right now.

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