Last week I was out of commission with a fever or a cold or something. That’s why I’m a little confused about when I wrote last week’s post. I remember answering Olga’s questions, and her response was quite amazing in its enthusiasm, but I also know that I was unconscious a lot around that time, so it’s a bit mysterious.
I guess I managed to be both productive and sick. Generally this is not how such events unravel. I’m sort of a wimp when it comes to being sick. I’m one of those people who washes their hands often because I hate germs because germs lead to me getting ill.
Actually, I have the reverse attitude now. When I first started washing my hands after every subway ride I felt a little strange. Now it’s normal for me and I look upon all of you with mild disgust when you don’t wash your hands before eating or after wandering around the city. Don’t you know what’s on those?!
I know people that will worry about what hormones are fed to the chickens that produce the eggs they buy and then cook to a safe temperature, but after riding on a subway they’ll eat without washing their hands.
Humans I tell ya. Humans will go to the gym to use the StairMaster and take the escalator up to the second floor when they get there.
So the book is still amassing words, but this week has been boring due to illness.
Unless butt-ass crazy NyQuil fever-dreams are of interest. And they’re not. To me. To write down.
So I’ll just go back to writing the book and we’ll be more interesting next week.