Big Baby Alert!

When I am sick, I am a great. big. baby.  Okay, maybe more like an angry toddler. When I feel like ick, I don't want anyone near me -- IRL or virtually. I am über snottyhackeycoughy cranky-pants. Also?

I'm totally buzzed on the Quil.

If I can stop the snot-faucet long enough to actually type, then I'm writing. Mostly because the combination of whiskey and Nyquil does wonders for the creative mind... you know, when I'm not face-first in a drool-soaked pillow.

Do I feel obligated to write when I'm sick? 

Hell no. I don't feel obligated to scrape the fuzz off my tongue or change my fever-stained clothes. The closest I get to an obligation is taking the dog five steps beyond the doorway so he doesn't pee in my bed.

What about the quality of plague-source writing?

Sometimes it's so awesome, I swear Bradley or Lackey occupied my body. Sometimes it's so heinous I print the pages just for the joy of burning them. In summary: pretty much like any other day I write.

So, I don't let sickness get me down?

 
Psht. Assuming my sickness is not of the intestinal variety, because, folks, really NO LAPTOPS IN THE BATHROOM, EVER (and you people who take your cell phones in there -- STOP IT. It's nasty.), I will write. I will also sleep and drink fucktons of tea. If the sleeping and excessive peeing prevent me from writing, so be it. I'm not going to beat myself up over it...that's the job of the cooties.