This past week

I've been sick as a dog.
No, dogs are generally pretty healthy. I've never understood that expression.
Sick as a hospital.
That's more like it.
That latent and then low level lethargy, followed by acute stomach stabs, punctuated by retching.
Sounds about right.

Needless to say, it seems the climax was yesterday when I was literally, once again, unable to stay upright for longer than an hour.
I’m so glad our couch is comfortable.
Still the mix of stabbing, heart burn, and nausea persists. It happens. It will happen again.
Until then I stay away from difficult to digest foods such as dairy, and suspicious ones such as wheat—it’s torture. I love wheat and everything wheat related.
I blame my mother for knowing how to cook and raising me with the beauty of whole grain.
Shit, I forgot to buy an avocado.
Excuse the non sequitur.

But today I felt well enough to weed eat. Yeah. We got an electric cordless weed eater. It weighs about five pounds but is quite powerful. No line jams, no cord pulling, gas guzzling, annoying engine sounds. Just the buzz of trimming. I came back in, took a shower, passed out for a couple of hours. Now I’m awake again and trying to catch up on a bit of work before going back to work.
Still—not very sociable today.
With any luck, I’ll be able to concentrate long enough to do some writing. I’ve been working on my as yet unnamed project and fiddling with TGTD. I’d really like to finish it. Really really really really would. I’m close. I can feel it. So. Freaking. Close.
The question is where and how to end it. Honestly, I’d like to end it at the far point in my mind, but that’s another 20k words easy.
Worth it? Perhaps. Just prepare to hear me whine and moan about it not being done until then.
moan moan moan.


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Listening to: Chevelle - Forfeit
via FoxyTunes