Interlude: Sick, Tired, Bummed, Uninspired, and Suffering from Blue Ballpoints

Ugh, must be Monday.

I’ve been dealing with a niggling cold and sore throat for the past few days, which hasn’t really gone away yet. Today, it’s been enhanced with a pounding headache.

Our car’s still out of commission until at least Tuesday or Wednesday, which means I need to use public transport to get to work. I don’t really have a problem with that, despite the heroic amount of bitching I do about public transport. Today, it all went reasonably well. But the weather has been such that the path through the forest[1] has turned into a mirror-smooth surface of 2-inch-thick packed ice all the way through to the main road. Not in itself a problem either, except the side of the path – where I normally walk when things get bad – has been packed and polished into a 1-inch-thick ice surface. SO I had to hack through the actual woods to get to the bus. Fine. Gotta be done, I suppose.

[1] Which I had considered the lesser of two evils compared to the walk down our packed-ice driveway to the main road on the other side, and the 3km walk to Hakunila to get any semblance of normal buses. The walk through the forest is shorter. But at the moment, I’m leaning in the direction of the long way being easier.

And yeah, I haven’t been able to write in almost a week. I think I’m figuring out where this last short story is headed, but I can’t get it down. I love my family and this weekend was great, with Mrs. Hatboy’s birthday on Saturday[2], pies and sausages and fun with Toop, then a lazy Sunday and a trip to the swimming pool with Wump, it was the best … but the discomfort and unhappiness only builds up inside me. I can’t help it.

[2] I got Mrs. Hatboy one of these (the Wash one). So I win birthday.

It always makes me laugh hysterically (inside, when I’m in a non-private place) when authors complain about writer’s block. What the ever-loving fuck is writer’s block? I get writer’s blocked. I get blue ballpoints. I get quillus interruptus. I have writer’s block thrust upon me. And that’s when my brain begins to eat itself from within.

Hey. Maybe that’s what this headache is all about.

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