November 18th, 2002


Things are surreal when your ears are stuffed.

Everything's tippy-dizzy, and I can't sit upright for more than half an hour or so before I have to go nap again. Yup, I got the illness. Everyone, act surprised... Personally, I'm surprised my immune system hadn't buckled months ago. Ah, hell, I'm suprised I haven't burst an artery, as much stress as I've been fighting lately. Stupid stress. Stupid house. Stupid germs.

At any rate, you guys are all great, and I went to bed in touched snifflies Friday night (plus real snifflies). I haven't really been out of bed since then.

Which mean, of course, that we didn't insulate this weekend, though Jake did at least go buy all of the insulation.

No writing done, either, to speak of, though I opened 'Golden Statues' and looked disgusted at it a bit. Tried to do some reading (After the King, collection of Tolkein-style shorts... so far pretty good), doodled a little bit, but mostly I've just slept. And complained. I've done a lot of complaining. Especially if you count mumbling disgruntedly into pillows as complaining. I've got at least 50k words into complaining if you include the words 'nnnnnnaaaaaa,' 'uuuuuuunnnnnnggggggghhhh' and 'uurrrrrhhhhhhh.'

Even sleep is weird though... spend most of the night swallowing gingerly because my throat is getting backed up in phlegm (and hurts like the devil), interspersed with horrible dreams about vapor barrier and ceiling insulation and getting stuck in high places while being chased by mafia/nazi evil meanies. Usually wake up choking, nose and throat clogged up. Been an unpleasant several days, with spurts of rare, blissful unconsciousness.

This too will pass.

Hopefully soon.
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