Got home at midnight on Friday, noticed a missive from the IRS in the mail, the were merely explaining that my serial killer like handwriting precluded them from reading my banking info to direct deposit my refund. If you've got to get mail from the IRS or the initials as I fondly refer to them, that's the kind to get.
So after feeding the cats, and getting ready for bed, within 5 minutes of being in bed, got up to hurl. And felt rather crappy (not literally thankfully) for the rest of the night. Got up the next morning, tried a cracker and coughed that back up. Joy.
I hate stomach virii. Alot.
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