The Joys of Being Sick

My ears have just spontaneously (I assume) unblocked, thank the gods. I hate being sick, and my body has arrived at the achy body/chills/headache stage of the Game of Ill. All three of us are sick. The boy seems to be the one who’s operating at the best level of efficiency; HRH and I have been dragging ourselves through the week.

I wrote the boy’s 39 month post early last week, saved it, and evidently forgot to publish it. I’ve just done that; it’s here. Annoying as all heck, because for once I finally did it on time.

I am at the ‘I suck at writing’ stage of the book, too. Why do I do this? No one is ever going to want to buy it. Doesn’t something else have to be happening, something important? What’s the point of telling a story if it doesn’t examine something deep and philosophical and life-changing? And I suspect that it might be better told as a first-person narrative. I’m going to stick to the third person until I’m absolutely convinced it would be better in the first, though. This is just my inner critic trying to stop me from getting anything done.

I have zero energy. Stupid achy cold. This is what I used to feel like all the time. I’m so grateful that the fibro was diagnosed and that I’m taking something for it now. How did I operate like this for weeks at a go?