I am sick. Not just sick of work, or sick of family life. Or sick of writing – heaven forbid! No, I am physically sick. So sick that my husband uncharacteristically took two days off work to look after me. He doesn’t do that. I must have been sick (and I love my darling so much for doing it!)
I have a chest infection. After fighting over numerous colds over the winter period, as the Doc explained it, you get a cold, you start to recover, you get another one, you start to recover, you get another one… etc etc. Until you get a chest infection or pneumonia. Fortunately I don’t have pneumonia (and I AM ignoring the pains I have in my back and sides when I write this), so the antibiotics I am on should really clear things up, once and for all.
As a result of my sickness, I haven’t felt like writing. Which while it is sad, hasn’t worried me, because I was too sick to care! I have only just started again today, and managed to put 1700 words onto my Blood Gold story, and it felt good.
But one advantage to being sick (other than spending quality time with my husband) has been that I have done nothing but sit and read for three days. I have read 300 + pages in the last three days. Admittedly all I could read on Tuesday was magazine articles because anything longer really threatened to overload my already straining brain, but I managed to finish two novels and start three during that time. They are all different, all interesting, and all very readable.
I don’t like being sick, the house is a mess, and I am still too sick to care, although it is starting to bug me now, so I must be starting to feel better. I don’t do sick – I try and push on as much as possible and get as much done so that I can rest more, but I realise now that I have to take some more time out of my day while I am still recovering and just relax, unwind and spend time reading, and not feeling guilty about it.
Next week will be a different matter!