So I’m sick.
I caught a bug that my wife caught and now I’m feeling drained, achy, and coughing.
I don’t really have right to complain – this is the first time in probably a decade that I have caught anything that lasted more then 24 hrs but still, I hate the dry, hacking cough and the inability to really think clearly. Perhaps I hate that last bit because it is too reminiscent of when my cycles get really bad and I can make my brain string coherent thoughts together.
What is bugging the most though is that yesterday I went to continue beta-reading a novel for a fellow writer and I just couldn’t focus enough to finish a chapter. I know the writer of this novel doesn’t expect it back immediately and is very grateful for my input so the only one I’m disappointing is myself but it still bothered me. I’m going to try again today as I feel better(ish) as long as I’m sitting down not doing anything.
It feels good to be helping out this writer with his work. Over the years I have been lucky enough to have people help me and to be able to return the favour just feels right.
I have my work out with people who are essentially strangers and now I am working on the novel of someone who is essentially a stranger, yet we are all part of a strange brother/sister hood. I don’t know if it is true of other arts (for example music) but for the most part I have found that writers, be they beginners or professionals, are a giving, welcoming, and friendly lot. It’s true some are suspicious, mean and spiteful but those individuals are easy to spot and avoid.
Well there you have it, a rambling post from a man on flu medications. Gee, the tabs on this post are going to be erratic.