My head is fuzzy from a Nyquil high and I’m trying to pound out prose in-between coughing fits. I am not successful in my endeavor, which is unfortunate because I had a fantastic creative spark during my drive home. I already outlined the next few chapters and conversations filled my head. This was going to be a big night for tapping my keyboard.
Now my head is… tra-la-la-la-la la-la-la-la…
There was a possibility for Friday night out. Possibility. Had I accepted. Although I was considering it, I wasn’t 100% in, and then I became ill, a gift from my fomite of a daughter, and decided that I’m definitely not venturing out of the house. I’m somewhat relieved, truth be told.
A sign? Do I even believe in signs? Or am I simply another victim of a seasonal upper respiratory infection?
The Nyquil in me says: Who cares? Your face feels like rubber and you’re seeing double. Go to bed.
Nyquil is so bossy.