Matt's Missives

Two of the last three evenings have been spent curled face down in a bucket or toilet, doing my best to aim what's getting expelled from my body at what seems inhuman velocity. I think I ate some bad chicken. And I thought to myself, "yeah it's cold . . . but I eat here all the time and it tastes fine." Ah the dangers of varying routine. It is a fine balance. As my friend Dan put it last night, "It's not E. Coli unless it's coming out both ends."

Toilet functions are a pretty big topic of conversation here among expats. Comparing notes, diseases. Making sure that sickness isn't too out of hand, learning what to expect. Ah yes, sharp stabbing pains. That means diarrhea, maybe punctuated with vomiting, maybe not. The sharper the stabbing the less . . . control you'll have. Always carry toilet paper. Always. Oh how we poor privileged suffer.