Bring out yer dead…
Bring out yer dead…
Err…
You might have guessed by now, but I’m not very good at being sick. I am, in fact, a big freaking baby when it comes to being sick. And right now, at this very instant, I am as full of big-baby-ness as it’s possible to be.
Watch out — I bear the plague!
Okay, so, unlike the Black Death, this particular plague probably won’t kill over a third of the world’s population — hell, it probably won’t even kill me (in spite of my over-dramatizing) — but, well… Whining can be fun when you feel like crap. Just ask any four-year-old.
I did try to write this morning, however. I figured I could get at least one decent hour of production, in spite of my patheticness.
You know what one line I managed to produce? “I don’t wanna go to school today, Mom!”
Ahem.
Okay…I have to be tougher than this! I think my brain and I need to have a talk about putting on our big-boy-pants and making stuff up for a few hours… I mean, how the hell am I supposed to finish my story if all I want to do is watch RiffTrax movies and feel sorry for myself?
Update: Random music note — I’m listening to a new song from a favorite artist of mine (a cover of a Brandi Carlile tune), and it’s really good:
Finding My Way Out 