I pushed hard on Monday, and Monday night I was about as sick as I've ever been. I won't go into detail, but Tuesday was pretty rough, and by Tuesday night I knew I needed additional help so I went to the ER. They drew blood, hydrated me, discussed the blood test results, prescribed an additional antibiotic, and sent me on my way.
And as much as I'd like to complain about how miserable that was, others have things worse. Travis, the Schlock Mercenary Colorist, was in a car accident that same day, and also spent time in the ER.
We'll both be fine eventually, but the antagonistic serendipity of joint ER visits was not lost on me. I figure so many wonderful things have transpired in the last little bit karmic balance had to be reset somehow.
Regardless, I'm not getting any work done. Wednesday was spent flat on my back. I don't feel much better today, and the better that I do feel is probably attributable to preemptive doses of Tylenol and loperamide, both of which have become constant companions over the last 24 hours.
I'm not asking for medical advice, or begging sympathy. I'm just letting you know that all the stuff I wanted to get done this week flat-out ain't gettin' done.