Sick today. Third day that I consider myself sick. I’d felt it coming on last week and tried to avert it, but by Sunday a cold was marking my throat and my head was congested and throbbing. It worsened Monday. Last night was unpleasant. Sleep has stayed away like it was afraid of catching my cold.
On a side note to that, it’s weird that toast and tea makes me feel so much better when I have a cold. Other than a tangelo, Larabar (key lime) and a cup of coffee while writing, tea and toast has been my sustenance for the past two days. That combo definitely makes me feel better. It might be a panacea effect because tea and toast is what’s always been recommended to me.
So, sick, not on my deathbed, but sick enough to ponder whether I could and should go out to write. I’d gotten about four hours of sleep last night and my head feels like Buddy Rich, Phil Collins, John Bonham, and Keith Moon are having a drum-off.
That lack of sleep left me vulnerable to phantom writing throughout the night. My WIP haunted me, and I felt it was an imperative that I write today. I wouldn’t do any (well, much) walking, but I would write.
So, it’s been successfully completed. Eighteen hundred words and some editing completed. But, my Ibuprofen has worn off, my ears are stopped up, and my nose continues its impressive Niagara Falls imitation. I’m done writing like crazy. Time to return home for some tea and toast.