(no subject)
Jan. 5th, 2003 08:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katallisonMy god, I feel awful. I have some sort of ultra-vicious chest cold settling in, with the usual concomitant feeling that someone has blasted a blowtorch down my trachea. Note to self: when coming down with the godawful chest crud, do not flump on the sofa and watch Dustin Hoffman in "Outbreak," because you shall be seized with the conviction that you are Patient Zero with the all-new airborne pnuemonic Ebola, and that your lungs are liquefying into sludge.
Also, the story is just inches from finished, which is always the stage, with every story, where I become convinced that it is the most banal, witless, malformed, incoherent piece of tripe ever to constitute an egregious affront to the English language and the human sensibility.
In addition to which, the couple upstairs have been engaged for the last few weeks in intermittent shrieking fights. This began, my hand to god, at fifteen minutes to midnight on Christmas Eve, when I was roused from my peaceful Christmassy slumbers to the sound of yelling, cursing, sobbing, and furniture being shoved violently about, and has persisted at intervals since. I have no idea what this is all about, and the good angel perched on my one shoulder would really very much prefer not to know, while the bad angel on the other shoulder believes that if one's neighbors are going to engage in screaming fights, the very least they can do is scream distinctly enough so one can follow the plotline.
I do rather wish I felt more like a human being this evening, a member in good standing of the species, accountable, dues paid up, on the right side of the velvet rope. Since I don't, going to bed might be an idea. Yes.
Also, the story is just inches from finished, which is always the stage, with every story, where I become convinced that it is the most banal, witless, malformed, incoherent piece of tripe ever to constitute an egregious affront to the English language and the human sensibility.
In addition to which, the couple upstairs have been engaged for the last few weeks in intermittent shrieking fights. This began, my hand to god, at fifteen minutes to midnight on Christmas Eve, when I was roused from my peaceful Christmassy slumbers to the sound of yelling, cursing, sobbing, and furniture being shoved violently about, and has persisted at intervals since. I have no idea what this is all about, and the good angel perched on my one shoulder would really very much prefer not to know, while the bad angel on the other shoulder believes that if one's neighbors are going to engage in screaming fights, the very least they can do is scream distinctly enough so one can follow the plotline.
I do rather wish I felt more like a human being this evening, a member in good standing of the species, accountable, dues paid up, on the right side of the velvet rope. Since I don't, going to bed might be an idea. Yes.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-01-06 05:14 am (UTC)Note to self: when coming down with the godawful chest crud, do not flump on the sofa and watch Dustin Hoffman in "Outbreak," because you shall be seized with the conviction that you are Patient Zero with the all-new airborne pnuemonic Ebola, and that your lungs are liquefying into sludge.
I was reminded the previous weekend not to read Connie Willis' "Doomsday Book" when fighting off the cold your roommate gave you for Christmas. There, if you are feeling rotten enough, you wander between worring about being struck down by either killer flu or the bubonic plague.
Although there is something comforting in watching characters who are obviously much more miserable than oneself.