Blugh, so unfair. Sick days are wasted on the sick. I just sat on the couch and stared into space like a blob of congealed snot on a hanky, or sat at my keyboard and stared into space like a blob of congealed snot on a hanky, but I could only do that for about half an hour before my clogged lungs and stuffed nose and aching joints sent me to bed. So, just a lot of lying around and being physically and psychologically reminiscent of the stuff I’m coughing up.
As much as people say there’s no connection between being out in the cold and getting a cold virus, we all know that’s bullplop. Of course being out in the cold lowers your resistance, makes your body react, and exposes you to diseased people (much as I love them). What? You telling me it’s a coincidence that you get colds after being out in the cold? Pull the other one, it has mucus dripping off it. The result may not be that you’ve caught a cold from the cold – say, from walking around in the snow wearing a top hat instead of a beanie, with iron-flavoured schnapps in your veins instead of blood – but the difference is a mere technicality.
Today this technicality left me sluggish and basically noncommunicative, which is a change from my usual “sluggish and overly chatty” state. I didn’t get anything much written, because to be fair if I’d been capable of that I would have had a hard time justifying my sick day, since writing is what I do. I did try – I got up first thing and made a start both on my work-writing and my hobby-writing – but had to admit soggy, wheezing defeat after an hour. Fortunately I’d had a bit of a chance to get down a blog entry on my phone the night before and post it to myself.
(I’m doing something a bit different with this one, posting it directly from my phone because I’m going to be running around catching up tomorrow. I don’t like doing it this way because mobile uploads seem to format differently, but oh well.)
Tomorrow I’ll throw down some more of the developing “Murder most foul” story, which won’t release its fascinating, horrible grip on me so I just need to lance it and squeeze it onto the blog. Sorry if it’s not gripping, I know I’m here for your fuckin’ entertainment, but it’s an exercise and it’s helping me do other stuff. And right now I’m still expelling phlegm, which explains a lot of my gross similes right now. Sorry about that too.
But just as well if I get a bit of sleep today. There will be precious little in the next 48 hours. Off straight pfrom work tomorrow to a midnight screening of The Hobbit 2: The Passion of the Smaug tomorrow night, so I need to be all better. Then pretty much straight back to work Wednesday morning. I might write a review.
I admit that the reason I am going to see this movie is that I like the story, I like the movies, I like the company we see them in and I’m interested in seeing the next instalment. My friends are layered neatly between the 3% who are still keen on the films, the 95% who are indifferent to them and pretty much always were, and the 2% who have a serious investment in hating anything that enough people like and honestly have no other reason to hate this film franchise, for all their dragon-like huffing and puffing.
I write reviews and share my thoughts more for that 2% than I do for anyone else.