Sobriquet 41.1

Today basically sucked. I woke up this morning feeling achier than Billy Ray Cyrus's early-to-mid nineties heart. My joints ached, my muscles (I use the term liberally) ached, my aches ached. I couldn't stay awake, I felt weak and unbalanced when perambulation became necessary. It was one of those days that feel as if they should be spent wrapped in a tattered bathrobe, sipping gallons of weak tea, staring out a kitchen window. Instead, I spent the day in bed reading and listening to Paul Auster's Travels in the Scriptorium (imagine Samuel Beckett re-writing the screenplay for Memento) on audio.

Needless to say, I found working rather difficult. At one point, as I sat in front of my computer screen, I found that I could not focus my blurry vision and had to return to bed. Somehow, I managed to read the rest of Waiting for the Barbarians in between fitful snatches of sleep. Though I finished the novel a full three days before I planned to do so, I still feel annoyed with myself for not having gotten much pre-writing done. I will have to go out and work on that now.

For tomorrow: Prewriting and a lot of it.