Writing Journal

I've been ridiculously sick with a nasty cold for almost a solid week.  I'm down to just the drainage left.  It was seriously the worst I can remember feeling from an illness as an adult.  I coughed so much so hard that I popped a blood vessel in my eye!  Headaches, fevers, chills, congestion, fatigue, all of it.  Three solid days.  Then three days where some of the symptoms were lessened.

I didn't want to touch anything because I didn't want to spread the germs.  In fact, I left church earlier than I anticipated yesterday because a family came in late and sat behind me.  With an infant who was less than two months old.  I was like, "Jesus, get my germs away from this baby!"  I didn't even shake hands with people.  Gave a couple of air hugs.  But I mean it when I share everything except my germs with people.  Even when I lived alone, I would cough and sneeze into my shirt collars.

Anyway, that's what's kept me from writing.  In an odd way, it made me grateful that I hadn't applied for jobs, or gone looking for one.  Terribly poor form to call out of your first full week or an interview because you have a cold.  Even worse to show up with one.  I seriously rubbed my upper lip raw.  There's a small open sore between my nose and lips from all the wiping.

But I'm going to write today.  About a drunken painter in a city of wonder, thanks to a 60 second art challenge by a couple friends of mine.  Watch here.

Came back to add that Pandora, even though I have all my stations on shuffle (and I listen to a wide array of stuff) started my writing session off with Carrie Underwood's "Just a Dream," and ended with George Jones' "If Drinkin' Don't Kill Me," which is funny because I made Underwood's song the motivating factor for my MC to leave his regular bar early that night and my page ended up with him passing out as he entered one his ex hated.