I still felt sick today, so I didn't go into work. I decided not to risk another bout of stomach cramps on the Q-train. Instead, I perused one of the manuscripts from my second job, that of part-time reader for a major metropolitan literary agency.

I'm halfway through, and it's pretty good so far. It's about this guy whose father is recently diagnosed with Huntington's Disease--sort of a combination of Alzheimer's and Parkinson's. The author realizes that he, too, may ultimately inherit the disease. He spends the novel coming to terms with both his life and his father. It's better than it sounds.