So I had a mini-health-crash that took me down for a week, and then I spent last week doing recovery. Hopefully this week will be more productive. Ironically, after dragging myself out of bed, having done nothing but watch shows for a week, my WiiFit cheerfully informed me that I had the body of a twenty-year-old. I pity that twenty-year-old. It’s normal for me to score higher on any kind of physical assesment if I’ve just come off a multi-day break, though — is that the way it works for everyone (the story of the famous violinist who if he didn’t practise for one day he could tell the difference, etc. seems to indicate not) or is it another side effect of whatever ails me?
On Saturday I got a request for one of my books from one of my kids, so yesterday I hunted up the latest story file to send to her… and ended up spending a good chunk of the day reading it myself, and chuckling. There is this wierd feeling when I do that — these are my own lines I’m laughing at, isn’t there supposed to be something wrong with that? But the reason I write has always been because I like my own stories. When I was doing nothing for a week, I was irked that I wasn’t accomplishing anything, (I like having my progress bars that go up, and my list of things to do that I check off) but the thing that bothered me the most was that I had really been looking forward to the next bit in the story I am writing, and because I wasn’t feeling well enough to write, the story had to be put on hold. Last week I could only write every other day or so, but at least my story was happening again. That made me happy.
For Last Week…
Writing: 5369 words
Pedometer: 18 607 steps