Hack! Snort! Groan.
I think we should replace the spirits and traditional monsters who are referenced in scary stories with the change-of-season virus. It's much more terrifying.
On Sunday, I thought I was just about free of the festering fingertips of whatever cold had me in its grip.
But when I spent 19 hours on Tuesday unconscious, or wishing I was unconscious, I had my doubts regarding recovery.
I've tried to reason with the bug. I've weakly pointed toward unfinished projects, unmailed items, and important dates on the calendar, but it hasn't made much of a difference.
This morning I made noises like the Tasmanian Devil as my body tried to clear my lungs and air passage. Instead of being saddened by this new state of phlegminess, I was encouraged. If it's finally in my chest, it means my body might actually be purging it from the system instead of letting it hide behind my kidney or whatever spot it's been lurking the last few months (where you always feel like you're about to get sick, then don't).
Last night (after washing my hands, not wanting to transmit my germs to unsuspecting folk), I was feeling well enough to start working on a set of undead nutcrackers for my upcoming show. They still need a final layer of paint for their skin tone, and varnish...and Lysol...but at least something was getting done. I have a show next weekend: The Bazaar of the Bizarre on Oct 23rd. I don't think I'll be able to make the price of my table back by selling freezies and autographs, so I've got to get working on items.
And today? Well, I am going to try my best to get to the post office, and to the store to get supplies for my Halloween projects. So much to do, so little time.
By the way, am I the only person in the world who gains weight when they get sick? You'd think my diet of crackers, toast and soup wouldn't add on the pounds but man...