I must have tempted fate too strongly by writing that last journal entry about how good I was feeling, physically. Shortly after, that a nasty stomach bug began to search my vitals, and I went to bed with a fever. Despite three blankets, a thick rter, four layers of clothing, the central heating on full blast plus an electric space heater, it still took me three hours to get warm and stop shivering. I spent most of the next 24 hours dashing abruptly to the bathroom, going through toilet pape n appalling rate.

By Christmas Eve, I was not only running out of toilet paper, but I was beginning to worry. My doctor had already closed for Christmas, so I drove over to the emergency room, which was surprisingly quiet. Twenty minutes later they had me on an I rehydrate me. I ended up lying on that gurney for four hours, going through two IV bags while they analyzed my stool sample. Soon, the other ER rooms began to fill up. I wished they hadn't left my door open, because I felt a little embarrassed lying there in one of those garments they euphemistically call "robes" with an IV in my vein. I saw someone else from my gym who'd done something to his arm, and was infuriating the doctor by continually interrupting him. There was a blond policewoman who'd developed a sudden rash: her partner, a young asian man, hovered worriedly. Then there was the young philipino who'd had some kind of bad trip, and was alternately screaming, throwing up or laughing with manic glee. And there was me, with just diarrhea.

By this morning, amazingly enough, I was feeling better, even though it was too early for the antibiotics to have done their work. And here I am, Christmas morning, alone again, just like last year. I'm in a fairly good mood, though, despite the last few days, and despite the knowledge of being alone at Christmas. It was my choice to be alone, since I did have a couple of offers. But I'd rather spend Christmas alone than spend it with people I don't really care about. I've lined up my special holiday treats: tuna melts and chocolate. Okay, I know it sounds rather pathetic, but they're real treats to me considering how strict I am with my diet. And I make a mean tuna-melt.