I jokingly told one of my friends the other night that my TBR stack was getting out of control, and, if I could only have one night of insomnia where all I did was read, I was sure I'd get caught up.
Be careful what you wish for.
Not more then two nights after our ill-fated conversation, I came down with a summer cold. It began innocently enough, with just a runny nose. By the time I crawled into bed, I couldn't breathe through my nose, and I was all clogged up. I tried sleeping while sitting up, but that didn't work, either. It seemed my wish had come true, and I was going to have one night when I couldn't sleep.
As my conversation with my friend flitted through my mind, I thought it was rather ironic that I had all this reading to do, not to mention writing, but my brain was so fuzzy, I couldn't keep my mind on the book queued up on my Nook. It was as if my brain was on holiday--MIA. Giving up, I dozed on and off, but kept waking myself up with my moans of suffering.
Have I mentioned that I'm not a good patient?
I rarely get sick, and when I do, I expect to be down and out for only a short time. I give myself permission to feel bad one day only. I'm now on Day 2, and not liking much of anything. I called in sick to work at my grocery job. Speaking of groceries, nothing tastes good, so I'm not eating. Ice cream is good for my throat, as are popsicles, so I'm managing to go through a lot of that. When I'm sick, nutrition takes a back seat to comfort.
I can't read and make sense of anything, so I certainly can't try writing. Maybe it's time to take a snow day in the middle of summer. In the midst of all my promised reviews and my personal writing deadlines, I'll just prop my feet up, watch some television and cuddle with my dog. I'll have a Scarlett O'Hara moment and worry about everything else tomorrow.