When you get the flu and spend a lot of time in a prayerful position before the Porcelain Idol, a lot of things go through your mind:
Will my soup stay down this time?
I wonder if I can train my cat to use the toilet.
No, probably not. I can't even train him not to drool on me while he's on my lap.
I wish I could do something creative.
Hell with that. I just wish I could get more than three hours of sleep tonight.
My prayers seem to have paid off. I finally did sleep more than three hours... almost ten, if you can believe it... and my Kashi Go-Lean with soy milk actually seems to want to stay in my stomach today. I still feel groggy and have a headache that would bring down a running caribou at three hundred yards, but I think the worst of it is over.
I forced myself to my keyboard and pounded out the last thousand words of chapter 14 this morning, too. I had almost finished the damned thing when I started feeling funky Monday night, and it was really wearing on my nerves as I ran back and forth from the living room to the bathroom yesterday. I'm pretty sure Obama's investiture as King didn't cause it. I am actually encouraged by what he's done so far, as long as he doesn't let all the Gitmo prisoners free when their own countries refuse to take them back.
The fact that the unfinished chapter was just sitting there... laughing at me... taunting me... knowing that my creative juices were, ah, otherwise occupied... now that rankled.
So in spite of the headache... in spite of my desire to do nothing more than crawl into my recliner and wait for Julius to leap on my lap and start drooling... I managed to finish another huge chapter.
My conscience whispers to me: Way to go, sickie. Now on to chapter 15.
Tomorrow, I whisper back.
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