The bed in the hotel is comfy. Me, not so much -- but at least I'm keeping down some food -- mostly soup and some mashed potatoes for dinner. Which is good, since my brother has decided to come to town late tomorrow night, and he probably couldn't handle it if I'm all barfy and grumpy.
Of course, the fact that I'm not still throwing up is all thanks to the magical cure-all that is red Gatorade. Or, as I emailed my coworker this morning, "The Gatorade has indeed aided this former Gator." It's a wonder drug.
As for the trial, it's going sloooooooowly. Which, on the one hand is good. On the other hand, I'd like to leave Newark sometime soon. Because it totally sucks here. And, as comfy as the hotel bed is, I'd rather be sleeping in my own.