sick and tired . . .
Today's blog post comes to you from the miserable lump residing on the couch, huddled beneath a blanket and coughing/sneezing/whining in front of the fireplace. Yep, that would be me. Hubby came home from work Tuesday night with a terrible cold, which proceeded to knock him flat for days. I, on the other hand, felt fine. I really thought I had outwitted and outlasted the nasty bug that got him, but alas, yesterday it found me. Today I am useless. Of course, this would come in the eleventh hour of my work on KISS OF CRIMSON, too. Argh!!
When conscious, I'm taking max doses of Airborne and echinacea tea, as well as Mrs. Grass Noodle Soup -- my personal Trinity for all things rhinoviral.
Have you ever noticed how many writers get run-down, wiped-out sick around the end of a book? I think that final balls-to-the-wall push does something to the immune system. And that, folks, is about as deep a thought as you're going to get out of me today . . . .
Back to the misery and suffering.
When conscious, I'm taking max doses of Airborne and echinacea tea, as well as Mrs. Grass Noodle Soup -- my personal Trinity for all things rhinoviral.
Have you ever noticed how many writers get run-down, wiped-out sick around the end of a book? I think that final balls-to-the-wall push does something to the immune system. And that, folks, is about as deep a thought as you're going to get out of me today . . . .
Back to the misery and suffering.