When I Die

I'm going to donate my body to medical science.

Yes, another week, another illness. At some point in the last 12 months my body appears to have evolved into a highly productive culture vessel for common ailments.

K had a winter vomiting virus towards the end of last week, and having suffered this myself a few years ago, I was hoping to avoid catching it.

As my Tuesday lunch began to bubble uncomfortably, and I felt the first shivers rippling through my body, I decided discretion was the better part of valour and headed for home early. Being caught on a crowded commuter train with this virus advancing on my system was not an attractive option.

Sure enough, by 6pm my head was in the toilet bowl, and my abs were getting the best workout they've had since - well - the last time I had the damn bug.

It's a real Blitzkrieg illness - from apparent good health to puking, crapping, fever, delirium, and fatigue, all within a few hours.

At least it wasn't as severe as my previous attack which happened when I was working away from home, and had me literally crawling around as I was too weak to stand.

Possibly famous last words, but mightily relieved E hasn't caught it.

The impending assault on my system perhaps explains - though I fear it is merely an excuse - an outbreak of extreme donkitude on my part during Monday evening.

Net result being a near $200 loss for the evening - after several weak calls, poor bluffs, and general imcompetence.

The root of my poor play was, I think, impatience and frustration due to extreme card deadness.

If I was a 'poker pro' it would have been a good session to quit early since I could sense all the symptoms afflicting my play; but as a hobby player there is definitely an element of knowing it might be my last chance to play for a few days, so wanting to 'make the most' of it.

Even when making the most means donating $200 to the biggest calling stations since BT.

On the plus side, I've managed to catch up on some good poker reading. Comments to follow.