So here I am, yet again, struck down by some mysterious stomach ailment. I'm thinking I either unknowingly ingested a ton of gluten (I have dermatitis herpetiformis, AKA celiac of the skin, which sounds glam but certainly is not), got food poisoning (eep), or contracted a lovely virus from one of the wee germ factories who frequent my place of work. No matter which one it is, I feel miserable.
It took me fifteen minutes to change my bed today because I had to keep taking breaks. I get dehydrated very easily. At least this time I didn't faint! Hooray! Give the girl a cigar!
No thanks, I don't smoke.
Anyway, in between lots of naps, I like to read to take my mind off of the fact that my body hates me. Personally, I find that the best things to read when I am sick deal with issues that are far worse than having a stomach bug or experiencing your immune system freak out because of exposure to a little protein called gluten. I get out the big guns: pandemic thrillers and murder mysteries.
The last time I was ill, the only thing I devoured was Connie Willis' Doomsday Book, because reading about people dying of the Black Plague was a) fascinating and b) comforting in that I did not have the Black Plague. I thought to myself, "Oh, well, I may be unable to ever think about eating again, but at least I'm not covered in pus-filled buboes that may explode at any moment!"
This go-round, I've gone a bit less icky and started reading The Hellfire Conspiracy by Will Thomas. I absolutely love the Barker & Llwelyn books, and this one is about London's first serial murderer. It has loads of dead, putrefying bodies, and I am very thankful that I live now, in 2016, in an apartment with actual plumbing and refrigeration.
However, I'm feeling a bit restless. I may pick up the last book in Scott Sigler's Pandemic series later today after yet another nap. I need a good alien invasion/medical freak-out story.