The answer to the question is "yes" there is something "less fun", and I spent a good portion of last night relinquishing my innards unto the bowel waste transfer receptacle in the master bedroom. There was a sweaty moment of hesitation, as I had to decide which bathroom to use. We're fortunate to have three here, and I knew that after I barfed up my leftovers Mrs. Ditchman would ask which privy I had fouled so that she could avoid it. I didn't think there was any avoiding it, actually, seeing as the germs themselves had intently managed to tag along with us over a hundred miles to infect neighboring counties. Well, it was a good weekend, however any memory of the niceties are obscured by the image of myself in a deep and profound porcelain embrace, moaning submissively.

The original source of the bug is still under some consideration. At one point we had localized it to the Weaver's second floor bathroom, but further discussion landed the blame on possible bad cheese and uncooked meats. I suppose it hardly matters anymore, but when you suffer so, you immediately want to cast blame: WHOSE?!

It wouldn't have been half bad if my aluminum supplier hadn't been so darned reliable yesterday, turning around my "urgent" request in less than 24 hours. Damn! Now I have to run out and meet the driver at the end of the road in Escondido, where I suspect he'll be lost (it's not in the Thomas Guide.) Prepping the job won't be particularly fun today, with my stomach still in knots. And, of all things, the customer phoned me late yesterday wanting to know if we provided our own Porta-Johns. "No," I had to admit, which discouraged him (as the concrete guys had) and probably struck him as downright unprofessional. I assured him that I was the only worker and that I had no need to go inside his home and that "I could manage my self" -though it didn't seem to settle right with the man. It's a large cover: 25 feet out, 55 feet long. I think he was suddenly more disturbed that I would be building the whole thing by myself. (And holding my pee all day, to boot!)

But I've done better with less under harsher conditions in worse weather with broken tools, so stand back -watch me work. I'm a trained professional. I'll relieve myself down the street at the taco stand, but I brought this bucket to throw up in.

And I'll be out of here in time for Thanksgiving dinner!


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