Covid, Computers, Convalescence, Cough (Cough, Cough)

I had a good run. Covid may have got going in ’19, but it took it until ’23 to catch me. Or for me to catch it, depending on how you look at it.

In any case, I fell ill about a week after my last post, and though not badly ill, I was in isolation for the best part of two weeks. In terms of quantity, that is. In terms of quality, the best part of the two weeks was definitely the bit where I could cuddle the Caped Gooseberry once more.

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Zombie Rising

And we are not talking about those lovable Chocolate Zombies, either.

At least one of you has noticed the lack of posts of late; I am sorry to inform you that this is because I have become a zombie. However I am seeing the doctor shortly and I hope there is a cure.

Emdee by Schell

I had last week off the DDJ, and oh, the plans I had. Yes, I needed to reconstruct everything after the crisis, but it was going to be fun. I was going to have time. I could live like a writer, at least for a week! The bells pealed, the angels sang, and I wrote about a thousand words of notes on the reincarnation of my WIP.

Mass Emergencies Opening Reception - Saint Peter and His Choir of Angels with Andre Woodward's Work

And then…
You guessed it. I got sick. At the worst, I had a high fever and couldn’t even bear to read (i.e. was at death’s door, as precious little else will stop me reading).
Once all my leave was up I went back to the DDJ, thinking I was getting better. But after only a day and a half I had to go home sick again. The cough, the cold…

Cough and the Common Cold

On the plus side, this means I am not at the DDJ and can even squeeze in a little writing here and there.

On the downside, I now have less than three days of sick leave to last me til mid 2014. (Guess I’d better not get sick again. ) I also have the brain of a zombie – all greyish green gook and slow synapses.

On the plus side again, I also have a Hollow-Cheeked Writer’s Cough which is definitely giving me the appropriate garret look.

58/365 where does it hurt?

What I really need to do now (aside from see the doctor for a zombie-cure, obvs.) is start writing the new draft. Just a line. Because until that first line is down, there’s the spectre of Perfectionism hanging over me.
And that’s scarier than any zombie.