That Which I Left Behind

If you come here looking for more of the novel today, nope, won’t find it.  There was some, but not a lot.  Why?

Sickness.  For the most part.

I did as I am want to do; blog in the morning and head for work, though sometimes those lines get blurred just a little.  But if you’ve been following me for the last few days you’ll know I’ve not been feeling one hundred percent, or even close to seventy or eighty.  It’s been like a low-level “blah” that had taken over, and it was messing me up something bad.  A few headaches, some dizziness, and a bit of nausea.

It was the last that really hit me yesterday morning, and I was unable to work through it as I have over the last couple of days.  So it was a quick walk to the bathroom to, um, purge, you might say, and then back to my desk.  I repeated that about ten minutes later, and once back at my desk I was about to pen an email to my manager telling him I was leaving for the day when he strolled in and I told him in person.

"I have to leave for the day; I don't feel well.  PS:  sorry about the bathroom."

“I have to leave for the day; I don’t feel well. PS: sorry about the bathroom.”

After a slow walk home I crashed and slept for about an hour, hour and a half.  I think it was more than an hour, but I’m not really certain because my head was kinda spinning a little by the time I made it through the door.

The thing is upon waking up I felt fine.  My head wasn’t spinning, my stomach had settled down, and I could actually wear my glasses without feeling like my head was spinning out of control.  In short, I seemed much better, and told my friends this amazing fact.  With this I changed my clothing and went out to pick up a few groceries, then decided much later to do an early dinner, with my computer, and get in some writing.

See?  Pretty much better.

See? Much better because I’m doing what I always do.

The writing wasn’t there, however.  I knew what I wanted to write, but I couldn’t get my head around it.  I’d written twelve hundred words the night before, and a lot of times when I do that I can’t find the focus to do the wording.  I manged just a little over four hundred, but when I realized more wasn’t coming without some teeth pulling, I shut it down, just as William Gibson suggested.

I realize today that I will be incredibly busy over the next week.  I have a novel for my book club to finish, a letter or two to write, and a few other things planed.  Next Friday I do my shot in the morning because I have labs in the afternoon, and the next shot after that I’m going to do a little video for.  I’m also planing on doing another video reading, probably within the next couple of weeks.

And the novel; don’t forget the novel.

This is all going somewhere.  I just wish I knew where.

 

The Running of the Thoughts

To everyone who sent me well wishes yesterday, thank you!  It’s not often I hear, “Get well soon!”, and it’s always good to get cheered up when you feeling bad.  I spent the day resting and sweating out the cold, and didn’t think about opening up my story because I couldn’t sit at the computer for more than a few minutes at a time.  Writing would have been a wasted endeavor, and it’s better to try and play catch up this week than to have tried to make a go at writing when I was half out of my mind with the flu.

"This is the part where she's speaking to a teacher--why do I have a dragon attacking Boston?"

“This is where she’s speaking to a teacher–why do I have a dragon attacking Boston?”

Everything is just about back to normal, other than the fact that I feel like I’ve run a race, and there is a constant ringing in my right ear, probably from all the coughing yesterday.  But the strangest part is still with me:

My half-awake dreams.

Whenever I get the flu and it finally starts to break, it’s as if I have no off button on my stream of conciseness.  When I was dozing in my chair in front of the television I’d catch myself mumbling things.  I have no idea what, but I know I was in a state of semi-sleep, and I was sort of talking.  Then once I’m in bed, it’s all about my thoughts running at high speed, like they all have to be somewhere in a big hurry.

I’ve always wondered why this happens, and why I get hooked up on some rather unusual thoughts.  The time I remember the most was waking up, sweating and shivering like crazy, and more or less hallucinating that I was going through the landing checklist for a C-130 cargo plane prior to setting it down on a beach.  Sometimes I’ve had phrases or songs get caught in a loop, and hear that spoken over and over for what seemed like hours.  I was told a couple of times that I didn’t just mumble in fever dreams, but that I’d hold conversations with people.

Last night was pretty much the same.  I was off on mind trips of things happening with color wheels, and discussing fictional characters as if they were people sitting in the room with me.  For a while I was working on a check list for something–never figured it out, however.  It was just a checklist and nothing more.  And I had a conversation with someone I knew, but haven’t seen in a while, about kids and weather and books.

All of that happened in the three hours between the time I went to bed, and when I got up to check the time.  It’s felt like most of the night was behind me–wrong.  It hadn’t even started.

When you’re delirious, the mind doesn’t know how to stop, and the fences that normally keep things in are nowhere to be seen, so thoughts come at you like snow falling from the sky.  You can’t stop them:  all you can do is let them fall and wonder how wet you’ll get.

If it wasn’t for the fact you feel so miserable before this happens, I’d suggest it happen more often.