Sick

Leave it to me to fall prey to food-poisoning just as the Big East tournament comes to a thrilling conclusion.

Sickness robs one of every delight. I feel like Captain Ahab:

“How now,” he soliloquized at last, withdrawing the tube, “this smoking no longer soothes.

“Oh, my pipe! hard must it go with me if thy charm be gone! Here have I been unconsciously toiling, not pleasuring— aye, and ignorantly smoking to windward all the while; to windward, and with such nervous whiffs, as if, like the dying whale, my final jets were the strongest and fullest of trouble.

“What business have I with this pipe? This thing that is meant for sereneness, to send up mild white vapors among mild white hairs, not among torn iron-grey locks like mine. I’ll smoke no more-”

He tossed the still lighted pipe into the sea. The fire hissed in the waves; the same instant the ship shot by the bubble the sinking pipe made. With slouched hat, Ahab lurchingly paced the planks. (Moby Dick)

If you feel sorry for me, maybe you could e-mail me some scrambled eggs, dry wheat toast, and Gatorade. Thanks!