My turn...

Whatever laid Galina low a couple of nights ago found a new playground last night, and between the chills, the runs, nausea, and a general feeling that I would never find a comfortable position from which to fall asleep, it was my turn to be sick.

As is ever more frequently the case in such circumstances, a part of my mind contributed to my travails by requiring me to think about translation work, of the "you are in a maze of twisty little passages" kind, i.e., many similar phrases, none of which I can actually visualize clearly. This continued on after I "got up" for the day (no such thing, really... I stayed in bed most of the day), and only an effort to consciously put such thoughts out of my mind—not entirely successful, I might add—has given me any relief.

Cheers...