Stress weakens the immune system. Ergo, the fact that I'm getting ill is probably because I've been so stressed. Of course, the fact that RG at our Writers' Group was clearly ill (hardly had a voice) and I sat next to him--that probably didn't help either.
I tried really hard to get a nap yesterday, to no avail. The house across the street is being worked on, and all a person can hear are saws whining and hammers banging. Then the UPS driver rang the doorbell and ran (what's the point of that?) after dropping off yet more golf stuff for the Addicted One. So since I couldn't sleep, I decided to treat myself by reading a mystery novel. It was nice to just lean back and start a novel. I finished by bedtime. (It's easy to read fast when chapters are short.)
I also wrote more on the piece of writing that I hope will turn into a novel. Sometimes I wonder if it's just really nothing but mental exercise. Doesn't matter. I enjoy doing it. I don't take myself seriously as a writer when I'm working on a murder mystery--I think more about plot and character development than anything else--but I do try to make sure the writing doesn't sound amateurish or stiff. It probably does anyway, but that's what revision is for.
I really feel lousy. Bleah. Dr. S.
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