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Feb. 9th, 2006 08:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeI'm getting really. Really. Really. REALLY FUCKING TIRED. of being sick. Strep. Sinus. Cold. Cough. This is not my idea of a good time.
When did my life turn into a hideous modern-day parallel of Lion in Winter? I damn well better be Eleanor or wigs will be split. Just sayin'.
The good news is, novels are coming along slowly but steadily. Not nearly at the pace they need to be, but getting a thousand or two words written per day when I'm going to work sick, coming home sick, trying to frantically catch up on all the crap I missed while curled up and itching/feverish/drugged to the gills/trying to unstuff my head/trying to swallow water... that's not that bad.
I am totally going to infect someone at game. Maybe I should just stay on one side of the room and use a megaphone. Or a walkie talkie. But on the plus side? I will also have a little party to celebrate the last of that fucking penicillin.
I also need to stop waking up every... four? hours. Yes. And then staying up for an hour staring at the ceiling before I can go to sleep.
Stupid Grammys. Depriving me of my shows. Also, I want Bran Flakes.
Must remember to mail things out today. Like that thing for the Children's Writer's Market book. Or my prescription refill-by-mail form. Birth control is good, let's not go back to being any more of a mess than we already are, Jag, plskthnxbai? Or my sister's birthday card, for that matter.
So tired. So not staying at work today. Coming home. Napping. Getting ready for game. Although the way I'm coughing, I probably wouldn't be able to stay at work even if I didn't have game. They don't like it when you croak and cough in customers' ears.
Yes, I'm whining.
PS: Interesting.
When did my life turn into a hideous modern-day parallel of Lion in Winter? I damn well better be Eleanor or wigs will be split. Just sayin'.
The good news is, novels are coming along slowly but steadily. Not nearly at the pace they need to be, but getting a thousand or two words written per day when I'm going to work sick, coming home sick, trying to frantically catch up on all the crap I missed while curled up and itching/feverish/drugged to the gills/trying to unstuff my head/trying to swallow water... that's not that bad.
I am totally going to infect someone at game. Maybe I should just stay on one side of the room and use a megaphone. Or a walkie talkie. But on the plus side? I will also have a little party to celebrate the last of that fucking penicillin.
I also need to stop waking up every... four? hours. Yes. And then staying up for an hour staring at the ceiling before I can go to sleep.
Stupid Grammys. Depriving me of my shows. Also, I want Bran Flakes.
Must remember to mail things out today. Like that thing for the Children's Writer's Market book. Or my prescription refill-by-mail form. Birth control is good, let's not go back to being any more of a mess than we already are, Jag, plskthnxbai? Or my sister's birthday card, for that matter.
So tired. So not staying at work today. Coming home. Napping. Getting ready for game. Although the way I'm coughing, I probably wouldn't be able to stay at work even if I didn't have game. They don't like it when you croak and cough in customers' ears.
Yes, I'm whining.
PS: Interesting.