Okay, so... the Beautiful Woman* and I have apparently both been struck down by a particularly nasty tummy bug, with exactly the sort of colorful biological results you might expect from such a thing. This is not just any illness, either. No, clearly this one has crawled up from the deepest pits of darkest Hell to afflict us. Think "Captain Tripps," only less merciful.
It is so bad that I was actually afraid to let my wife drive the two blocks to pick up Firstborn from his summer camp. Instead, I left work and picked him up myself... which, in retrospect, may have been equally ill-advised. Having returned Firstborn and myself to our home, I put the boy in front of the television and sat down to finish my workday as a telecommuter.
This has not been accomplished without cost. To drag me back from the brink - far enough that I can, for example, compose this post - has taken two Motrin, two Extra-Strength Tylenol, Immodium, Sudafed, Mucinex, and half a gallon of water (to wash it all down). Despite this pharmacological cornucopia, I am only barely functional; and as soon as the work day is over, I will collapse on the couch and let Firstborn jump on my head**. Dinner is a prospect almost too daunting to consider.
This being the current state of affairs, it seems possible that the usual Wednesday morning entry by the Deranged Cultist may be delayed.
Also, in anticipation of those who might be wondering: yes, as a matter of fact, I do talk like this in real life. This complicates my personal life considerably.
* That's my wife.
** As he is wont to do.