More swine flu, more writing, less fun every minute
Swine flu. Which I still don’t have. I have a headache and I have aching joints, but that’s probably because I’m doing a bit more than I should be post-operative wise, because there isn’t actually anybody else to do it when OH has swine flu.
When you’re ill yourself, all you want to do is sleep. When somebody else is ill, all you want to do is let them sleep … but everything you do is so LOUD! Can’t run the washing machine, can’t have the radio loud, even the microwave pinging wakes him up!
So far, the keyboard hasn’t disturbed his sleep, but there’s a limit to how much I can write without tea (banging cupboard doors) radio (as previously contraindicated) and wandering out into the garden for inspiration (opening and closing doors).
But deadlines do not go away, so I trudge on, piling one inspirationless word on top of another like a particularly bleak wall. One day he will get over swine flu. One day I will actually want to write instead of sitting down and getting on with it. Maybe.
Labels: swine flu, writing to deadlines