Something insidious grew inside me on Wednesday and has taken the form of sore throat, fever, achy muscles, and exhaustion. I had two days where I stayed home and did nothing -- all that time to write, and I couldn't even manage to work a can opener. I used pop-top soup cans, and praised the fact that I live in the future instead of the past where pop-tops didn't exist yet.
I'm starting to feel a little better today. There might be writing. After I clean up the giant mess of soup bowls, spoons, and tea mugs that accumulated around my sink.
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