I'm Up. But

     ...Not happy about it.  Tried to turn out steak & eggs and hash browns, which turned into a huge exercise in frustration.  The little steaks are good -- with what Tam bought, you'd have to work very hard to ruin it -- and the eggs, despite heir best efforts, will do.  But the hash browns?  Gray.  With a brown-gold crust.  Edible, but no more than edible.  Didn't drain enough?  Too much oil? Should have rinsed them after grating? I annoyed the Potato Sidhe?  (Oh, no, no no no, not that last: I love spuds.  I can't be gettin' on the wrong side of the Folk who look after their best interests!)

     On the other hand, Tam just called out from the kitchen, "You want the rest of these hash browns?"  So not a total failure; she says they're "...in some weird hybrid zone between a hash brown, a potato pancake and a potato chip."  Great, I have created Taterzilla!  Be of good heart; the mutant is falling rapidly to our war-forks, so fear not, fellow-humans: you are saved.

     I am, you will have gathered, still sick.  Less so than I was, I think, but not so well that a simple two-skillet breakfast doesn't play out like cosmological atomic rocket surgery on pain pills in a snowstorm.  Underwater.  While doing my taxes.