I’m sure there was a time when those two words were less ambiguous. Because it amuses me, I will clarify. I am not “sick” in the way of a sweet move pulled off by a skilled skateboarder. I am not “sick” in the way of a gruesome murder. I’m just feeling ill. My body is host to some horrible, tiny creatures, and my natural response is to produce gallons of snot.
Yesterday, I stayed home. I missed out on work, Computer Club, and writing with Michael. I stayed in bed most of the day, then shuffled off to my computer in the garage in the afternoon to continue by Star Trek: TNG marathon.
Today, I’m still producing mucus valiantly, a True Champion of Phlegm. I’m at work, though, coughing and sneezing and making my coworkers wish I’d stayed home another day.
That’s pretty much all I have to report, at the moment. I’ve willfully left my short story alone. I’ll try editing it later, if I’m feeling up to it. I haven’t made any progress on my novel in about a week. There’s some plotting I need to do before I can really continue. This Saturday, I have a band concert which I probably won’t be able to attend, and a writer’s group meeting which I desperately want to attend. We’ll see how I’m feeling in a few days.