Was it the roasted beets (been in the fridge a while), the pasta sample at Costco, the bite of mysterious melon at the Palo Alto market from the fingers of the vendor, the bowlful of pistachios after dinner? Whatever, my poor stomach began lurching around at 10 last night. After a few minutes, I realized the cookbook I was reading was not the proper material. Tried The Barbarians are Coming by David Wong Louie, in which the hero is a chef. Bad idea. Salivating a lot.

Took some Pepto-Bismol. Two seconds later, decided that was probably the worst thing I could do. Even when I’m not queasy, taking that stuff kind of repels me.

Got back on the web to see the best approach to stop nausea because throwing up is not my favorite thing to do. Google produced many links with the word ‘vomit’ prominently featured. Really bad idea. Salivating more.

Got emails from friends, one just lost her dad. Set about composing a sympathy note. Unable to focus.

Finally, I just leaned on the bathroom wall and waited. Afterward, I was afraid to go to sleep, thinking I would just have to get up again. A few seconds later, my system said, ‘Get ready, this time it’s going to be coming out one end or another.’ I could have used more specific information, but grabbed Taylor’s Guide to Roses, and went back to the bathroom.

Taylor saved me. I looked carefully at every lovely rose, noted which photos were not in proper register, noted which I’d love to have in my garden, even looked at all the old roses, knowing they would never survive in my shady yard. Meanwhile, the system subsided, and I went to the garage to get a warm 7-up.

All night I dreamed of a screen with the upper third in kind of a noisy abstract of random marks. I had to stay in that upper level in order to be stable. I guess my system was still trying to talk to me.