A solitary life
I’ve been really good this week about getting up early and writing. The short story ended up being about 8500 words, and I wrote it all out by hand over four days.
This morning I could not wake up. It wasn’t that I was exhausted so much as I couldn’t get my brain to start. “Can’t brain, I haz the dumb” sort of feeling. I didn’t write, but I did drag my sorry ass through the things I needed to do this morning - vacuuming the vacation rental, cleaning away the leaves out front so someone could walk on my sidewalk without fear of slipping and falling on piles of wet leaves.
It wasn’t until I called into my first morning meeting that I realized I actually was sick, and didn’t have much voice. My throat had hurt a little, but I had thought it was just tiredness.
Obviously I don’t talk out loud to myself enough to realize these sorts of things.
I’m going to try to write this afternoon, but I suspect that I’m going to have to wait until tomorrow before I get much more done on this story. I’m still hopeful that I’ll get it published on Saturday, however, the world isn’t going to end if I push it out until Sunday. I would be more upset about missing this deadline but I’m too tired and am going back to bed.
Crossposted from my website. If you'd like to comment, you can do so here or there.