Squidginess and Brain Fog

This week started promisingly enough with revision and a submission. On Monday, I revised some of the myth poems according to feedback I received from A.P. on Friday. Also, I put together a group of poems for a submission to a lit mag. Yay me, right? Wrong. Things slowed down drastically after that.

On Tuesday, I woke up with the plague . . . not in my eye this time, but in my head. A cold -- and not one of those little sniffly things, but one of those viruses that slowly pulls you down into the depths of misery over the course of the day, to the point where you can't quite remember your name or why you're wearing pajamas at 3 p.m. in the afternoon. Of course, I wasn't IN my pajamas at that point, because I attended a funeral for my friend's father in the morning, and I holed up in the library until it was time to pick up the boy, so it wasn't until about 7 p.m. that I could change into sweatpants and wallow in my misery. But any writing I did in the library (I think I managed two or three stanzas of the fairy tale) was achieved at a snail's pace. And actually, wallowing in my misery didn't really happen until 9 p.m., when the two doodles were finally tucked in bed.

Wednesday, needless to say, was a wash, despite my best efforts to fight the vile virus with cold medicine, tea, and zinc lozenges.

It's remarkable the degree to which our attitudes can be effected by our health. I felt like death these past days, in all areas of my life, but really the only thing wrong was that I had a stupid cold. Usually, I'm a pretty happy person if I can get a good day's work in somewhere between the following areas: home, health, and writing. By home, I mean that if I can manage to clean and/or organize some previously disastrous area in the house, I'm ecstatic, and by health, I mean that if I manage to get just 20 minutes of exercise per day, I feel like The Jam. (That's right. The Jam.)

I felt particularly non-jammy this past week, having done nothing to further my writing, or to rid myself of the non-fabulous "Sabbatical 45" I appear to have accrued (okay, I don't look like I've gained 45 lbs because I HAVEN'T gained 45 lbs, but I'm feeling squidgy lately, and that ain't cool). (Random Note of Minor Interest: Spell-check did not have a problem with the word squidgy.)

Plus I've been preoccupied with second-guessing myself lately, which makes me a joy . . . a joy . . . to be around. Just ask my husband, who has to take the brunt of my hemming and hawing!

Oh -- and while I'm in full-on confession/complainer mode, I might as well admit that I missed my therapy appointment over Thanksgiving week because I forgot I had it scheduled and went to Virginia early. I still haven't called M. back to ask for forgiveness, and, please, an appointment, because obviously I'm crazy and have mush-brain, which surely must be remedied by things like therapy. And then . . . because I was doped up on cold meds for the previous 24 hours, I missed an appointment on Wednesday morning and had to reschedule. It's for something ridiculous, a haircut, but dammit, if I make an appointment with someone I hate to waste their time by not showing up. It's just rude.

I called back the salon and rescheduled for tomorrow, which pushes my meeting with A.P. up to 1 p.m. if he's even available, but at least I'm somewhat back on track to normalcy. I managed to write all day today, which was awesome (yes, italics are necessary) and now I'm almost over the hump with my fairy tale. So things are looking up.

And my cold has subsided somewhat. Yay! I'd say I'm running at about 80% Sarah Power today. Of course, 100% Sarah Power is probably about 35% Normal Person Power (Normal Persons being those who have unmushy brains and aren't distracted by shiny objects) -- but whatev. I'll work with what I got.

And on top of all of that rambling, I may have some good news in the future, but I need for things to go official before I feel confident enough to post it here. (How's that for a completely underwhelming and cryptic sign-off! On. A. Roll.)

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