Woke up at six-thirty this morning, and half an hour later I had an upset stomach. And I still do.

I hate stupid little things like upset stomachs. They’re minor, and yet they sap all your energy. I almost wish that I hadn’t done so well yesterday, because now there’s a little voice in the back of my head suggesting that I curl up under an afghan with a cat as a living hot water bottle, and not write, because I’m ahead of schedule. That voice is currently engaged in a knock-down fight with my work-ethic voice and my panicked I’ll-Never-Get-It-Done-In-Time voice, who are both attempting to repress it.

While that’s being decided, I’m going to curl up with tea and perhaps read.