So last Tuesday morning, I started feeling a little punky. Punky being the word my mom used to use (and probably still would, if I called her) for being sick. Sore throat, headache. SIX DAYS LATER, I’m still sick.
I have nearly lost my mind. No, really. I don’t handle being sick very well, and, since I’m going to be gone from work later this week, I didn’t really have the luxury of setting up a triage unit on the couch and calling it a day. Last night, when I hadn’t been able to breathe out of my nose in a full waking day, I just about lost it. I took a Nyquil and a Claritan-D and thought, “Well, if I’m overdosing…”
Luckily nothing bad happened. I got to breathe and sleep simultaneously and only regret taking the Claritan-D because that D and I don’t get along. I’ve been a little strung out all day.
And now the sick is back in my throat. Perfect.
I even went dirty-hippy and bought a neti pot. Yeah. I was desperate, I said. Now I’m a believer. Now if I could only jury rig a net hose to run through my nose, I’d be cool.
Sick of my sick? Yeah, me too.
In other news…do I have any other news?
Oh, right. Conference this week. I’m excited to be going. I went to AWP in Chicago last year, but I spent the two months leading up to it working like crazy to get ready for it. Of course, I’ve been working like crazy for the last seven months this time around, but in service of a paycheck. I’d say there’s a difference. I’m relieved that my only responsibility this AWP is to wear my name badge and not stalk Michael Chabon.
I think I can handle it.
I might even try to get some writing done. It’s a writing conference, after all, and you do sort of burn out on sessions after a while. Burn out on sessions and get completely overwhelmed by how many people out there want the very same thing you do. It’s…humbling.
I’m not sure my best writing hours are right after I’ve been humbled, but we’ll see.