And every day my confusion grows

By some fair miracle, the dog let us sleep in until a quarter to ten this morning. I, for one, greatly appreciated it - for I am definitely sick. Tomorrow I'll hit up a doc-in-a-box and get some freaking pills or something; the old standbys of vitamin C and "lots of fluids"* aren't helping, and I have so much work to do that I can't sit around and just be gross. (Much as the prospect appeals to me.)

So. Yeah.

Today the car had a little bit of work done - nothing major, but necessary - and it was particularly annoying because we've been without transportation since yesterday. This is also the #1 reason I didn't go to the doc-in-a-box sooner; we didn't have our vehicle again until late enough this afternoon that my cocktail of cabinet-found meds had kicked in, and for awhile I was feeling nearly all right.

During this window of Almost Okayness I revised/reworked and sent off the proposal for Schrodinger's Project, and now I can forget about it for a few weeks - I think - and return all my creative attention to Fiddlehead. Speaking of, I do have a few thousand words to report, but I didn't get as far as I meant to, and I still have catching up to do.

I say that as if I have more than five weeks to finish this draft, and like every day isn't a hamster wheel hurricane of being behind on my progress. Hah.

Anyway, we have some friends coming over to meet the dog in a few minutes - and that'll be nice. He's hitting his early evening crazypants puppytime, and I'm happy to foist him off on other people for a little bit.

But I'll be back tomorrow with metrics. Doc-in-the-box or no.


* Most of which were not alcohol-related. No, really. Even water feels like swallowing lava.