Friday, September 11, 2009

You Know You're a Writer When...

You're part of a pandemic and the first thing on your mind is how it might be worked into a future story.

So I went to the doctor on Tuesday. The reason: I could barely walk because in my knees and ankles and was so tired that I woke up in the morning thinking it was 6 a.m. and it was actually noon. Having checked my symptoms on the Mayo Clinic's web site, I waited for my appointment thinking I had rheumatoid arthritis and wondering how I could have rheumatoid arthritis at 31.

But it turns out I have H1N1. That's right - I have swine flu. I am now a statistic in the pandemic, under flu house arrest until my fever goes away.

The good news - I finished my edits! They are now in my editor's hands (don't worry she received a Word attachment, I'm not mailing my germs to anyone).

Since my brain is too fuzzy for cleverness, I'm leaving you with a conspiracy theory. The source of my misery may be from intergalactic bio-terrorists:


  1. Ugh, so sorry. No need to be clever. Rest, drink liquids, get better.

  2. I think I have what you have. Sucks.

  3. oh man, BJW, I'm so sorry. And according to my doctor, half the country is going to get this so we'll soon have plenty of company. Get well soon.