I don’t want to say that that was the worst bout of Martian Death Flu I’ve had, but if it wasn’t, it was damn close. Braniac here probably should have gone into the hospital at some point. Four or five days of no eating, followed by a period where I had a hard time talking. I don’t mean the usual “Cullen can’t talk”; I mean I was having a hard time making sentences. It would come out sort of like this:
Really scary stuff that brought words like “stroke” to mind. However, I didn’t notice any real change other than that, and after several days of eating regular I’m pretty much normal.
Or at least as normal as I get.
I know, I know. Mr. Waters should go see a doctor. The whole problem with talking thing suggests other problems, especially when connected with the not-eating portion of the illness. I just don’t have the funds. I don’t even have the money for a new pair of glasses (the old pair broke recently.)
Times like this, I wish I had Brother Eric’s hospital phobia to excuse my stupidity.
Anyway, all this is another way of saying I need to get off my butt and get writing. Once was enough. I need published and funded for no other reason than to avoiding this crap in future.
As for this poor, underposted blog, this week should be a little more intereting. I have a couple of minireviews ready for Monday, and some house cleaning turned up some really old sketches, including one that’ll make you wonder where my freaking head was. I know I wonder.
Fingers crossed on no more illnesses. Ever.