(no subject)

There are good things about being sick. I solved two plot issues while stuck in bed, contemplating the absurdities of living in a frail body. The fever obviously helped my brain, because I also realised that all I had to do was slip a sentence in here and there earlier in the book and one of the major crises would be inevitable, which is what one wants from major crises in novels. What's more, I can make it fit precisely within the character's normal scope (he puts himself in peril - yay!). It will look as if I knew it all along and was just amazingly clever, whereas the truth is that I built my characters and was waiting for them to explode.

I haven't done anything else today. I didn't do much yesterday. The truth is that I was less well than I thought. I'm only eating because the antibiotics have to be taken with food. All I want is to drink and sleep and come back online to annoy friends when I get bored. I plan to watch TV for a long time today, with the computer on in case I have enough energy to do some urgent stuff. The non-urgent stuff will have to wait.

It's taking me ages just to type this. One key, then a ponder and a rest, then a few more keys, then a ponder and a rest, then a sentence finished, then a ponder and a rest. Imagine me writing 2,000 words of essay. I would emerge three weeks later, wondering if I had missed anything...