Sick and Tired

The kid, as cute as he is, is a walking, talking petri dish. Whatever he had over the weekend has manifested itself into an evil orange alert cold in me, his mother. It's the kind of cold where you walk around with a box of Kleenex under your arm and with different colored socks on. Being sick directly impacts a person's productivity, especially if that person has the luxury of working from home and has a commute that only takes her between her bed and her desk a few rooms away. (Though I have managed to do a bit of writing on my Dana and noodle on how I want to revise Book 2 which will mean cutting stuff and rearranging what's left. But as I'm hopped up on NyQuil I shall be refraining from doing any major surgery on the manuscript until I can pass a drug test.)

Last night I finally gave up on trying to breath out of my nose, since it was having none of that, and watched The Bachelor reunion show at 3 am (women are really mean to each other, man), followed by The Da Vinci Code which has to be the longest movie ever. I swear I must have nodded off at least a half dozen times and it was still on when I roused myself to blow my nose. By the time I dragged myself back to bed, it was still on and four minutes after my usual wake-up time.

I'm on day two of this cold and, really, I'm so over it. I wish the rest of me would get on message.

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