Physically, I feel 100% again. Friday, I felt -- I'm not sure what percentage I felt, but it wasn't 100%. It wasn't 50%, either; I've never had to codify percentages of sick. It's always been enough to say "I'm not 100%"; it conveys the point. I've also never had to use the "how bad is the pain on a scale of 1 to 10," either; I may never even have seen that until I was visiting my grandma Jean in the hospital circa 2003.
I've never been, shall we say, threateningly sick. I've had nothing that risked killing me. Pneumonia in the mid-80s in Virginia Beach; chicken pox in early 1993; and, otherwise, it's been the fevers, colds and occasional vomiting that visit all of us. And I can say that I've never vomited from drinking; heck, I've still yet to have a hangover. My body has had other reasons to reject the contents of my stomach.
It hasn't needed to reject such stuff lately. Good, because I don't like waste.
I'm glad I don't have to be exact about being sick. I'm glad I knew enough Friday to take a day, which turned out to be a needed day.
Because I'd like to aim to be 106% well, the way the space shuttle engines were rated to run.