(no subject)

So, it's Friday morning, I'm all done with work, my nose goop has eased off a little thank goodness... so now what?


Yeah, good question.

Any suggestions gratefully recieved, though for preferance can they not involve much in the way of physical activity? That'd be nice, thanks...

Headspin on the tail

OK, I feel like I was supposed to be doing something only now I can't remember what it was...


*stabs self in the brain with a spork*
Stupid congestion, quit impacting on my ability to think!

Oh yeah, I have to read a quick beta for View. That's probably it. I can't think of anything else offhand that's still pending. Though I can't guarentee my coherance, mindyou...

I think I spoke too soon this morning when I said my gunk was clearing. It's come back with a vengance and stolen my sense of taste. This makes me sad. I was thinking of baking this afternoon, but baking's no fun when you can't taste the cake you just made.

the frustratory affairs of a chick and her literary issues

It's very frustrating, you know. I have a great desire this evening to write a nice, thoughtful expansion on a certain topic that just grabbed a relevant nerve this evening, and I can't.
I don't mean that it's too difficult, I mean this evening I physically can't. With the effects of the congestion, I'm having massive eloquance issues. I go for words that are almost in my grasp but I just... can't... quite... reach... Concepts are evading me and deep thought is beyond the scope of my stuffy, woozy, swimmy head. Which is very annoying when you have things to say, but you're just too tired and [insert word I can't think of at the monent] to scrape together the relevant concentration and continuous thought to actually do anything about it.

In case you wanted to know it had something to do with this post in Neil Gaiman's blog but I can't pull myself together enough to think about it all right now.

My attention flickers and I've spent most of the day wishing I was alseep but being unable to doze off. Bored but not able to concentrate long enough to actually do anything to alleviate the boredom.

I'm flickering, and my poor Leo muse is relgated to a quiet corner trying not to wince at the overwhelmingly pervasive odour of menthol that's trailing around everywhere I go. Poor guy. And too polite to complain about it too.

Ah, screw it, I'm gonna' go lie down over there and not-sleep some more.