I woke up with the stomach flu yesterday. Still have it. Banished to the guest bedroom so I don't get Callie sick. The mattress isn't firm enough so I couldn't get comfortable. Spent the night tossing and turning, waking up every hour. David Cassidy's "I Think I Love You" played over and over in my head. Why? Who knows with fever dreams. It could just have been ABBA or John Denver, which would be equally confounding.
This is a bad week to be sick. I was going to shoot an author photo this week. Nothing serious. I've got an occasion to wear a suit and I thought I'd have Callie find some nice lighting and snap away. I hate shooting author photos. They're out of date before the book is published and the really old ones remind you of when you were much younger and thinner and just that little bit more dashing. At least I still have my hair, though I've really let it grow out and I look like a crazed professor. Good problems to have.
I am writing this on my phone, with my thumbs, sitting out back at sunrise just to feel sunshine on my face. At least now I have a valid reason to cancel my dermatologist appointment for tomorrow, though I am less happy about the afternoon lunch I had to move.
Today is also the day I start my new book proposal. I'm very excited about it. A new running book. Blurbs for The Long Run are due next Monday and I have enjoyed reaching out to runners and writers I respect for their two cents. Now I'm not so sure I want to start the proposal because I just don't have the energy. We'll see. Maybe just a word or a sentence to get things rolling. Maybe add page numbers and a header with my name and the title (which is always subject to change because I am really horrible about titles: The Long Run was supposed to be Boom, until it was pointed out that readers might associate it more with a war book than a running book).
I am the sort to relapse because I push things too much when I am sick. Maybe this time it will be different. But I sure would like to get some writing down.