Thursday, February 24, 2011

Day 124

Maybe it’s because I’ve been fevered for the past few days,  but the urge to write is so strong that I sit here with words swirling around in my brain gnashing their teeth to break free.  I often write in a frenzy and then I’m good for awhile.  I haven’t written since
Sunday because of this plague that has seized hold of me and I am reaping the consequences. 

I’m still not well.  It may be strep throat, but my new insurance doesn’t take effect until March 1 so I chug water like its air and sleep until it becomes my only reality.  Am I asleep now?  I’ve made it down to the computer.  I even had the crazy impulse to clean and in the midst of the loud alternative music and scrubbing the kitchen table, I was exhausted and burdened with words, so here I am.  The fever’s back and a crisp bag of baby carrots feels good on the forehead.  Where’s the Tylenol?  I don’t have the time for this.  Margaret Mitchell wrote GWTW while she was laid up.  Where’s my yellow note pads?  Wouldn't it just be so much easier to open up the brain and just dump the stories out?  Having to organize my thoughts and then move my fingers seems so burdensome right now.  


1 comment:

  1. You must be so frustrated...and delirious...Margaret Mitchell didn't have a fever, as you know. I think you've got it worse.
    Don't be too hard on yourself and do what you can. :)