I no longer know what to do with all these damn lemons!  I’ve made lemonade.  I’ve put them in my tea.  I’ve preserved them,  and pickled them, and grilled them, and dried them.  I’m all lemoned out.

This has been, hands down, one of the worst stretches of bad luck I’ve had in a long while.  I’ve now been sick for a month – one nasty cold virus after another.  Coughing, hacking, phlemy misery.  I dragged my sorry behind in to school to teach classes on Thursday and paid the price.  Two whole days with no voice whatsoever.  My fever came back.  I had to cancel my trip to San Francisco, where I was supposed to present a paper at the American Anthropological Association and meet up with one of my best and oldest friends.

I am, without doubt, feeling very sorry for myself.

A few upshots, though.  My foggy head has cleared enough the last few days that I’ve been able to tackle a little writing.  I’m making some progress on my revisions to ABSENT and have also resuscitated an old novelette about post-apocalyptic treasure hunters — sort of Indian Jones meets Tomb Raider meets Firefly.  That’s been fun.

While Sid and I are both suffering (he’s been ill too), Mr. Ramses is in heaven.  He’s delighted that someone other than himself seems to want to spend all their time in bed.  He’s been a fat, snuggly companion while I recuperate.

Sad to say, but that’s all the news from here.  Sick. Minimal (but improving) writing progress.  Happy cat.

What’s new with you?