1. I'm sick. Haven't been sick like this in a while. Started feeling sick Friday morning, sore throat, achey, fatigued, the usual. Thought I didn't need to stay in bed all day so I ran a few errands for L. & V.'s wedding, which is coming up this Saturday. Even ate a Ben & Jerry's brownie sundae with vanilla and New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream (the latter is my favorite flavor). Bad move. Spent part of Saturday and most of Sunday laid up, exhausted and cranky. I know healing is not always comfortable or pleasant, and being sick this weekend gave me a good excuse to finally watch "Finding Nemo" (I loved it, of course), but I still don't like it. Pout.
2. I don't feel like writing. I had a spurt of creativity on Friday night and a few times on Saturday, but after reading a chapter from Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones about the dangers of being a 'goody-two-shoes' and showing up to the page everyday because it's what you're supposed to do, I decided yesterday to take a deliberate break, to let myself be 'bad.' I know, pretty pathetic, eh? Well, I called in sick to work too, that's bad, isn't it? Pout again.
Are these two phenomena truly unrelated? I wonder. They came upon me so quickly, almost simultaneously, perhaps my sickness and my deliberate no-writing-time are just ways to give myself a well-deserved break. I've been trying too hard to make things better, when maybe all I need to do is just let things resolve themselves (thanks, V.).
Their cries echo to the heavens ...
10 hours ago