I have a cold. It's not a bad cold, but between the DayQuil, the NyQuil, and all the little Quils, I feel like my head is floating in a dreamy haze. Instead of the normal sharp tacks it sits on, it's sandwiched between a pillow and a bag of marshmallows. Or it is a marshmallow, I'm not quite sure. I can only taste about half my food. And man, I would love nothing more than to just take a nap the rest of the day.
But no! I cannot! This novel needs to be written, no matter how much I'm sweating without exercising. My body's physical condition doesn't affect my brain! It's fine. I must write! Through wind or shine or snow or dark of night or disease. Duff Gardens... Hurrah!
*falls on steering wheel, car horn blares, while I'm unconscious*