five days of fever
Wouldn’t that be an awesome title for a rock song? Unfortunately, it’s also the title of a really shitty way to spend a long weekend.
There I was, with the last few chunks of raw material ready to be shaped and dumped into the ether to satisfy my ever-hungry editor. And then wham. And when I say “wham,” I don’t mean that George Michael suddenly showed up and started singing, “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.” Because that would’ve been awesome. No, I mean wham, this fevered fog just whumped right down onto me, and it didn’t let up for the next five days.
As luck would have it, I was on foot that day. It’s only a mile or so home from the train station, but I actually had to stop at the coffee shop halfway there for a restorative cup of tea. What am I, some effete Victorian good-for-nothing who simply cahhhn’t make it a few blocks without a cuppa? Apparently.
And yet, I was still too proud to beg the wife for a ride home. Besides, the baby had just fallen asleep, and I don’t care if you are George Michael and both your legs are broken and there are flaming tornadoes outside—ain’t nobody gonna come pick you up if the baby has just fallen asleep after a hard day’s evil.
So I spent most of the weekend hiding under the covers and whining. If I’d tried to write, it probably would’ve come out seury dkfuhg sergke dficxvvkerse ivxdfse xcvllerlkij. Actually, maybe that’d be an improvement. Anyone wanna come sneeze on me?