The "conveniently forget" is the fact this has happened before, same Thai restaurant in Oakland, probably eating that same dish. The buffet, and, I suspect, the salad.

You read a story in the paper about washing vegetables because they could be infected with Salmonella, right?.

Well, yeah. But everything else on the buffet table seemed reasonably well cooked. Steamed mussels in a broth, a potato and chicken stew like concoction. I go there for the salad, since I don't eat enough greens. With a buffet, if you eat a lot of salad and drink a lot of water, you don't pig out on the bad stuff.

Chicken and potatoes?

OK, OK. But, since I don't eat dinner, some part of that meal was the culprit.

So I called in sick and spent the day waiting for a time when I could get up without  falling over. Saturday morning, thirty six hours later, twelve pounds lighter, I made it to the local Seven-Eleven for orange juice, Coke, red colored Gatoraid, a loaf of bread, sandwich makings and a raspberry tart. You get back to basics when you're feeling under the weather. There'd been some thought of tuna fish and cold orange soda pop, but that was a throwback from one or two nights of fever I can still remember from my early childhood. One must move forward, fifty years later, going on five. Besides, Seven-Eleven sells crappy canned tuna.

Otherwise life goes well. The new job is interesting if only because any new job is interesting for a while. I'm good at starting, less good at finishing, terrible when things travel on at a stultifying pace. I haven't been shooting pictures, but it's the middle of winter and I'll use that as an excuse until the season starts with the Chinese New Year parade next month. Next month is getting closer.

I notice Rien has signed off for what one hopes is a short time. Incredible energy there that can't last forever. Until it comes back. And it does come back. Less energy here right now as well. Writing has been like breaking rocks, swimming in mud, dreaming. Which is weird (every time it happens). Sneaks up on you. A bit like life. Or food poisoning. So I'll continue, but it'll be sporadic.

Another sign in the window across the street. A cry for help? I have no idea what they mean. I assume the guy is complaining about his apartment: break-ins, no heat, no hot water, less than a lovely landlord. "Black-out". What's that mean, exactly? "Black-out".