sore
fosteronfilm decided at the last minute to attend one of the Image free salons last night: "Meet the Press". I decided to stay home and try to write. (Also to see the season premiers of Bones and House. What can I say, I likes my vacuous, passive entertainment.)So what happens as soon as my hubby is out of the garage? I got hewn down by a throbbing sinus headache. Ouch. Downed some Extra Strength Excedrin and coffee in the hopes of nipping it before it became blinding. In any case I reasoned, once the caffeine kicks in, it should stoke the ole muse. I've written in the midst of an agonizing headache before. I can do it again.
Nope nope. It makes me nauseous. "I hope it's a funny aneurysm." I'm still feeling disjointed and fragile from last night.
Hobkin, however, was excellent company. He seemed to sense my misery and came to flop beside me all night. It was a warm night, so having a hot, furry animal curled against my leg was a bit on the sweltering side, but I appreciated the sentiment. And no matter how miserable I feel, it's always better having the silly beastie with me.
In less "Eugie whines" news, check out
shadesong's 8 Hunks of Hanukkah, a parallel and complement to the 12 Babes of Christmas. Personally, I'm tickled and delighted at the idea of seeing some seasonal beefcake along with the cheesecake. So yes, I accepted my "babe" nomination, and yes, I nominated hunks. Expect vote pimping to commence in October. Writing Stuff
New Words: 100
Not many words, but I'm pleased with them. Through the miasma of headache anguish, the plot of the Red Riding Hood fairy tale re-telling coalesced and I scribbled out an outline. See? Suffering is good for creativity. Ow.
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Club 100 For Writers
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