The honeymoon virus

I've been gone for a while... sorry about that. Truth is, I've been busier than I can feel comfortable admitting, and I'm not usually one to admit that I can't handle a workload, but this time I have to say that I came pretty close to throwing in the towel. The best part, of course, is that I'm nowhere near done. In a few days, my thesis is due, and I'm still working on it. I'll get it done, but it won't be fun. Meanwhile, I caught the plague, and only the most dramatic kind. But I'll get to that in a sec.

First, the small stuff. I got past my end-of-semester labors pretty cleanly... grading, papers, and so forth. Shortly after finals week, I had a conference at NYU, where I presented my thesis findings. That went really well, actually, so no complaints there. That was last week. This week, I was all set to put the finishing touches on my thesis to turn it in (and possibly get it back with more revisions, with my luck). That's when I ended up with the dreaded honeymoon virus. Ah, the good life...

I'll explain. The day after John and I got married, John came down with a case of food poisoning the likes of which the world can hardly imagine. He was a fixture in the hotel bathroom for three days, and we didn't even bother to put clothes on him... I just moved the television as close to the bathroom door as I could and ordered myself a lot of room service. At the end of it, I can't say he could possibly have loved me more. Since then, we look back on the lovely honeymoon days and laugh about the honeymoon virus. I laugh no longer. There's a place out here, just down the block and around the corner from our apartment... it's a place of evil, and it's called Crown Chicken.

Damn you, Crown Chicken. Damn you all the way down to fried chicken hell.

We had worked out hard all week. I had just had a stressfull but successfull showing at the NYU conference. John and I were on our way home from the gym and trying to think of what to eat for dinner when, as a joke, we both mentioned Crown Chicken. It was a joke, that is, until we both noticed that magical glint in one another's eyes. After some nudging, we agreed to give it a go, as a sort of celebratory indulgence. We got home, and I ate my chicken pieces while John ate his chicken strips. Oh, yeah... we had different food items, so John was spared. Somehow, I still love him. After all, he's been there. Anyway, about half an hour after our meal, the fireworks began. I'll spare you the details. All I'll say is that if you use your imagination, I promise you it was much worse.

It finally ended today. My stomach stopped cramping, I'm able to get around without feeling woozy, and I'm holding food down, although I'm keeping it down to oatmeal and bread. On the bright side, I've lost about four pounds. Bad news is that I have a lot of catching up to do in order to get my thesis done in time. Oh, and if I didn't mention it before, my summer class began last week, so I've had reading and assignments already. John's been great as the proverbial caretaker, and I'm grateful for his patience and his prompt responses to my moans and groans. So then, all is back to stable. I'm still sore, but I've got too much to get done to let that get in the way of progress. Whatever... I'm celebrating those four pounds.