Sniffle
The Horse Doctor is away at some work-related event on Dartmoor, actually looking at ponies for a change (usually it's sheep and cows). All of which means I am alone for now (not counting the dogs and the cat) and can work to my own schedule.
Mostly I have been sat at my desk, staring blankly at my computer screen and wondering how it was I've managed to write seven books already when I can't seem to think my way out of a paper bag at the moment. Yesterday's tally, from half eight in the morning until half eleven at night, with an hour off to walk the dachshund, was a paltry 1700 words, plus about eight hundred I wrote in the morning and then deleted.
I could blame the weather. It's not rained in almost a fortnight now, and the sun still beats down mercilessly on my poor wilted cabbages. I've been doping myself up with anti-histamines for weeks, but still the nose runs, the sneezes come in blocks of ten or twelve, my eyes itch and the back of my throat feels like it's being wallpapered by an inept but keen diy enthusiast. Last night was the first really bad one of the year, probably not helped by reading Tambo's 'Ghosts in the Snow' into the wee small hours. I drifted off sometime around half past two, then woke up an hour later with both nostrils completely blocked, and yet somehow also running. My eyes were gummed up and my head felt like it was wrapped in hot cotton wool. Sleep after then was hard to come by and ultimately unsatisfying. I took two antihistamines just before going to bed, so it's really rather unsporting of my allergies to play up like that.
Still, it's Friday. I can have a dram later on. Whisky always helps.
Mostly I have been sat at my desk, staring blankly at my computer screen and wondering how it was I've managed to write seven books already when I can't seem to think my way out of a paper bag at the moment. Yesterday's tally, from half eight in the morning until half eleven at night, with an hour off to walk the dachshund, was a paltry 1700 words, plus about eight hundred I wrote in the morning and then deleted.
I could blame the weather. It's not rained in almost a fortnight now, and the sun still beats down mercilessly on my poor wilted cabbages. I've been doping myself up with anti-histamines for weeks, but still the nose runs, the sneezes come in blocks of ten or twelve, my eyes itch and the back of my throat feels like it's being wallpapered by an inept but keen diy enthusiast. Last night was the first really bad one of the year, probably not helped by reading Tambo's 'Ghosts in the Snow' into the wee small hours. I drifted off sometime around half past two, then woke up an hour later with both nostrils completely blocked, and yet somehow also running. My eyes were gummed up and my head felt like it was wrapped in hot cotton wool. Sleep after then was hard to come by and ultimately unsatisfying. I took two antihistamines just before going to bed, so it's really rather unsporting of my allergies to play up like that.
Still, it's Friday. I can have a dram later on. Whisky always helps.
Comments
And have you ever put a paper bag over your head and tried to extricate yourself by the power of thought alone? Even Professor X struggles with that one.
I'd blame the hayfever. Hasn't hit me yet this year, but I know it does rather preoccupy the senses.
I think I have one scheduled for 2008.
Vincent - it's maybe not paltry, but bear in mind I'm not doing anything else at the moment. Except worrying about how small next months paycheque is going to be. And the paper bag thing is a breeze, but I do get funny looks from the dachshund.
And odd hallucinations.