The House of Transitory Discontent
Feb. 16th, 2010 10:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceThe thing about cats is, they don't think ahead. Early Tea is all very well, but when it's followed by Late Breakfast, that's a very poor thing indeed. There is hunger in between, extended hunger. There is a whole lot of pacing to and fro across Chazzies - be they prone, supine and/or whatever-the-word-is-for-lying-on-your-side - and grumbling.
It was Late Late Breakfast this morning. I went to bed at midnight, slept till two; then was awake pretty much entirely till six. Thought I might as well get up, did that, and was Very Dizzy Indeed, besides other issues I need not trouble you withal; so went straight back to bed again.
And stayed there till, um, now, more or less. Half-ten, or thereabouts. Oops.
Still, hungry boys are easy to placate. And now I'm going to go downstairs and very possibly drink tea, as the thought of coffee is repugnant to me. See, I told you I was ill... (Mark and Helen have been ill too, tho' clearly not making such a fuss about it. I saw them on Saturday. We think the timelag is too long for the oysters and/or mussels to be responsible; norovirus is currently favourite.)
And then, when I have rehydrated and sat for a while, I am going to come back up here and try to get some work done. Because I foolishly promised this book on Friday, which is of course the real reason why my friends and I are sick. Please to picture all those bloody childish gods up on Olympus, nudging each other and, "Hubris! Did you see that? He committed hubris! Quick, pile on the punishments! Downfall shall occur!!" etc.
I have 150 pages still to work through, give or take. (I would tell you exactly, but Young Sir is sitting on the manuscript being cute, so...) I can do that, in four days. Even sick, I can do that. I think I can, I think I can. I am the Little Writer Who Could. Oh, yes...
It was Late Late Breakfast this morning. I went to bed at midnight, slept till two; then was awake pretty much entirely till six. Thought I might as well get up, did that, and was Very Dizzy Indeed, besides other issues I need not trouble you withal; so went straight back to bed again.
And stayed there till, um, now, more or less. Half-ten, or thereabouts. Oops.
Still, hungry boys are easy to placate. And now I'm going to go downstairs and very possibly drink tea, as the thought of coffee is repugnant to me. See, I told you I was ill... (Mark and Helen have been ill too, tho' clearly not making such a fuss about it. I saw them on Saturday. We think the timelag is too long for the oysters and/or mussels to be responsible; norovirus is currently favourite.)
And then, when I have rehydrated and sat for a while, I am going to come back up here and try to get some work done. Because I foolishly promised this book on Friday, which is of course the real reason why my friends and I are sick. Please to picture all those bloody childish gods up on Olympus, nudging each other and, "Hubris! Did you see that? He committed hubris! Quick, pile on the punishments! Downfall shall occur!!" etc.
I have 150 pages still to work through, give or take. (I would tell you exactly, but Young Sir is sitting on the manuscript being cute, so...) I can do that, in four days. Even sick, I can do that. I think I can, I think I can. I am the Little Writer Who Could. Oh, yes...