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May. 1st, 2011 05:04 pmAs I just told a friend, I am very proud of myself. I have finally developed the aches and pains to go along with my virus.
Despite this, I've managed two meetings today, shopping, the library, and about an hour's work. If I can finish my three books (for today is a three book day, not a two book day) as well as complete the manuscript evaluation I need to have done by tomorrow, then I shall say "Hah!" to my aches and pains. For the record, I wrote the right amount of novel yesterday, read my two books, sorted out what books I need to read at the ANU on Tuesday (and, in fact, found all Chifley Library's holdings that relate to both my novel and my dissertation, while I was at it - this isn't as bad as it sounds, as I did a lot of the groundwork last year) and did everything else I had to except email. It's not that I wasn't sick as a whatever* - it's that if I don't get everything out of the way I'll worry about it during my birthday party. This week is about getting things done!
One of today's meetings was Conflux. Karen circulated the draft program. It's looking great. One committee member complained because, as she said "I can't be in three places at once and I need to go to all of these panels." When Karen puts that draft program online, I'll let you know.
Also, the hotel is finalising the price of the banquet. I'll let you know what that is, too, just as soon as I know myself. We have both vegetarian and gluten free options. There is no pork, there is no seafood, there is no fish on the menu. The gluten free option is not entirely historically correct, I'm afraid, but it's only not-authentic in one single side dish.
I'm feeling steamrollered. This is not a nice virus. Don't bother getting it. I'm making a hot drink and working for as long as I can, and then it's back to bed, to quietly wonder why my legs wobble so.
*And here is where I ought to 'fess up. The amazing advantage of being chronically ill is that one feels sick almost all the time. If I stopped everything just because I didn't feel well, I'd have no life. The same virus that has taken out swards of my family and sent them to bed for days, has not even slowed me down, therefore. Well, not much. I do hurt, however, and I do complain. In fact, I complain a lot. If I had been coughing or spluttering, I would have dipped out on the meetings so as not to infect others, but that was last week's virality.
Despite this, I've managed two meetings today, shopping, the library, and about an hour's work. If I can finish my three books (for today is a three book day, not a two book day) as well as complete the manuscript evaluation I need to have done by tomorrow, then I shall say "Hah!" to my aches and pains. For the record, I wrote the right amount of novel yesterday, read my two books, sorted out what books I need to read at the ANU on Tuesday (and, in fact, found all Chifley Library's holdings that relate to both my novel and my dissertation, while I was at it - this isn't as bad as it sounds, as I did a lot of the groundwork last year) and did everything else I had to except email. It's not that I wasn't sick as a whatever* - it's that if I don't get everything out of the way I'll worry about it during my birthday party. This week is about getting things done!
One of today's meetings was Conflux. Karen circulated the draft program. It's looking great. One committee member complained because, as she said "I can't be in three places at once and I need to go to all of these panels." When Karen puts that draft program online, I'll let you know.
Also, the hotel is finalising the price of the banquet. I'll let you know what that is, too, just as soon as I know myself. We have both vegetarian and gluten free options. There is no pork, there is no seafood, there is no fish on the menu. The gluten free option is not entirely historically correct, I'm afraid, but it's only not-authentic in one single side dish.
I'm feeling steamrollered. This is not a nice virus. Don't bother getting it. I'm making a hot drink and working for as long as I can, and then it's back to bed, to quietly wonder why my legs wobble so.
*And here is where I ought to 'fess up. The amazing advantage of being chronically ill is that one feels sick almost all the time. If I stopped everything just because I didn't feel well, I'd have no life. The same virus that has taken out swards of my family and sent them to bed for days, has not even slowed me down, therefore. Well, not much. I do hurt, however, and I do complain. In fact, I complain a lot. If I had been coughing or spluttering, I would have dipped out on the meetings so as not to infect others, but that was last week's virality.