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Soup and Self-Pity

Things to do when ill:

1.  Turn off the alarm clock.  I have been trying to set my alarm clock for the same early hours as all my friend with their ‘real jobs’ and their ‘offices’ and other bizarre concepts.  This is of course ludicrous, because my friends work 9 p.m. – 5 p.m. at which point they go to see… oh, I don’t know… theatre shows, or music events or other things on which I’m working flat out.  So the idea that, to somehow prove to myself that I’m a decent labouring member of society I need to get up at the same time as them is, patently, absurd.

Anyway.

Clock’s off now.

Body’s still waking me up at stupid a.m., though.  Sulk.

2.  Soup.  I have been making soup.  But am now out of lemons.

3.  Bad TV.  Also!  In fairness.  I’ve watched a lot of documentaries.  I love documentaries.  I like sewing my clothes back together while watching them.  (Downside of technical work: clothes frequently damaged.)

4.  Mindless pottering.  Today, I cleaned the oven.  This monumental event only ever happens at the end of writing a novel, in those strange, detached few hours when you drift around the flat after writing the last few words and think, ‘oh.  Okay.  What’s next?’  Turns out, though, that it’s just about mindless enough that I can do it while ill, and makes me feel better about myself since, as a freelancer, I’m conditioned to feel guilt whenever I’m not doing something.  Anything.  Anything at all.

5.  Generic self-pity.  Do I make sounds like a grumpy zombie when trying to find paracetamol?  Hell yeah.

6.  Lots of reading.  The deadline for the shortlist for the Kitsches approaches fast and so publishers, including I have to admit, mine, have suddenly been submitting everything all at once.  Which is thrilling (free books!) but also infuriating (why did they take so long) as now my bedroom floor is mostly covered in guilt in unread trade paperback form.  But ah well… we’re getting there.

7.  Not really updating the blog.

I mean, I know I should.

And I think this is me doing it.

But um.  My wombats.  Warthogs.  Weevils.

… words!

Oh yes.

Them.

They’re not so great, when I’m high on paracetamol…

On the plus side!  This made me happy: