There's nothing like food poisoning to remind you that your body is just a long, exceptionally lumpy torus.

I'm a generally healthy person who's had an odd run of luck lately, and I'll spare you the gory details except to say that I spent Sunday evening throwing up like I never have before - I always assumed that the day I threw up in public, tequila would be involved. Instead, it was egg salad.

So here is your humbled narrator, abruptly excusing herself from a second game of dominoes at a local cafe four blocks from her apartment. Here she is with three blocks remaining, clutching a tree, shaking, sweating, acutely aware of passersby and gratefully accepting a fistful napkins from E, who seems caught between maintaining a respectful distance and the idea that someone should be holding my hair.

Two blocks, another tree.

And so it went, fortunately less al fresco the rest of the time, for six hours.

I'm still feeling pretty ambivalent about food. Abandonment issues, I guess.