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: