I eat basically the same thing all week (lunch: the week's big pot of soup; dinner: the week's big baked thing) because I work out of my house, which means that I was startled to discover that the twisting in the pit of my stomach last night was not the continuation of emotional unhappiness from a Man Being A Jerkass, but was instead some sort of godforsaken intestinal virus from either a snack bread I bought for breakfast or some fried mac and cheese balls I bought at an ill-advised happy hour.