I hate being sick, under the weather, not up to par, dragging lower than a snake’s belly, whatever you call it. Especially that nasty space of time when you first wake up, feeling pretty good. You’re not dead, no real aches in bones or muscles, temp is good. Then you stand up.
The nice ‘I’m good’ feeling skitters away like a wad of disturbed cockroaches, leaving an out-to-sea-foggy mind, the head dips a bit, then a twinge of ache, nose starts clogging and the day begins again. So, no, I’m not good, yet.
Of course the next stage isn’t much better. Which is today. I feel good enough to enjoy being sick. Which means I’m whiny, crabby and no fun to be around. Especially for me.
But I’m stuck with this semi-sick person in my own body. Even Netflix doesn’t help, ‘cause I’m not functioning enough to figure out the remote. Need a clearer head for that on a good day. And this isn’t one of them.
What can I do? Ah, well, type. And by now, keyboarding is close enough to natural that I can power up the machine and start writing. Long Suffering Husband also had a bout with whatever this particular wog is and brilliant man that he is, he sat in his recliner and did nothing. No interacting outside of the necessary. Sleeping as often as he could. So he’s on the mend all the way to helping the daughter with a door bell issue today.
Ah, that I should be so wise.
So, today, I am following his example. Doing as little as possible, drinking lots of water, fruit juices, a bit of soup, whatever actually sounds good to consume. Which is a short list.
Had great plans to prepare a thoughtful, deep-digging post on developing scenes. Oh, wait, no. That was for me to sequence the next scenes in the murder mystery I’m working on. For the blog, it was something else, which at the moment is lost in the mental ether disrupting coherent thought.
So, y’all, this will have to do.
Next week, I promise. Rational thought. Or at least the closest I come to it.