Stupid cold.

[squeequeg]

2000 words written in the novel revision, so I suppose that means I'm feeling better. Granted, it was exposition-heavy and lumpy in places, but I'll have another revision before I send it to anyone, so it'll do. (Besides, it's part of the How It All Went To Hell bit of the story. Tough to avoid exposition there.)

I think the main thing I hate about being sick -- other than the way my body tried to produce enough mucus for the next year all at once -- is how much of a waste it is. I feel that if I'm taking the day off from work, I should be doing something useful with it (like writing), rather than lying in bed going "glaaaah." I should be getting laundry and dishes and useful chores done, not discovering that thanks to the cold medicine, I no longer have an attention span long enough to handle more than a comics page at once. (A page of text was right out.) I should be remembering and celebrating birthdays like 2h2o's and ethicsgradient's, not taking half an hour to eat a goddamned piece of toast.

So yeah, I rather resent losing this last week. At least now I'm up and thinking, and can take care of thomascantor if he catches what I had. Time to go get more chicken soup.

Comments

[pantshead.livejournal.com]

other than the way my body tried to produce enough mucus for the next year all at once

See, you were doing important things! Preemptive mucus production is easily as useful as doing the dishes.....

(That wasn't really what you hoped for, was it? Glad you're mending!)

[stealthmuffin.livejournal.com]

It's only good if I remain mucus-free. Somehow I suspect that won't happen.

(And thanks. I'm feeling much better.)