So, the Fourth of July has always been one of my favorite holidays. Outside of celebrating with loud, illegal explosives, you can really celebrate any way you please. The most common way is cooking out, I think, and since all my favorite food involves open flame and once-living tissue, you can't really go wrong!
Excellent, right? Except last night I spent my time in bed. From one thirty in the afternoon until one o'clock today, I slept in forty minute increments, rolling, aching, and all-around hating myself. Apparently, while my girlfriend was in Greece, she managed to contract some strange, European sickness. For upwards of five days she was queezy, and vomiting. It was a terrible sight. Upon her return, she gave me my souveniers, among which was the remainder of her sickness.
The good news? I believe I have managed to best the illness in only one day as opposed to four or five. For breakfast I have eaten eggs, and milk, and toast, and though my stomache does not feel like stone, I am not, in fact, throwing up.
Take that, Greece. Your Atenian disease is no match for my body.
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