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Got up yesterday with a headache, but no stomachache, so figured I was good to go. I went, and shortly realized that this had been a Bad, if not outright tragic, Idea. Left work and came home. Fell on face. Woke up when the phone rang; talked to Steve. Finished with the phone call, wandered out to the living room with the vague idea that I ought to do something, sat down on the couch. Mozart jumped up next to me -- and I woke up again when the phone rang. Talked to Steve. Got something to eat -- let's hear it for taking on nutrients! -- wandered back to the office, determined to not have the entire day get away from me. Made a new cover for The Tomorrow Log, uploaded it and the book to Kindle and Nook after only about six tries each and counted it a job well done. Went to bed. Slept like rock until the alarm went off.
This, children, is what comes of overclocking your brain.
So, anyway. Up betimes, fed Hexapuma his Special Breakfast, had my own breakfast, talked to Steve on the phone. Still have a shadow headache, but nothing, she said determinedly, to keep me from doing The Usual.
This morning, grey and damp here among the trees of Maine; yesterday's wind has downgraded to a leaf-rustling breeze. Scrabble in on my co-pilot's chair wishing I would stop already with the typing and let a cat sleep.
And so I shall.
This, children, is what comes of overclocking your brain.
So, anyway. Up betimes, fed Hexapuma his Special Breakfast, had my own breakfast, talked to Steve on the phone. Still have a shadow headache, but nothing, she said determinedly, to keep me from doing The Usual.
This morning, grey and damp here among the trees of Maine; yesterday's wind has downgraded to a leaf-rustling breeze. Scrabble in on my co-pilot's chair wishing I would stop already with the typing and let a cat sleep.
And so I shall.
