stop whinging about work, get on with some new writing, learn to love my lot and all in all become a better, bolder and less bolshie person, I get struck down with a head cold.
Is the universe trying to tell me that I was okay as I was? Or is the small god of snide jokes having one on me?
Or is it just the plain old boring germ theory?
Staggering on with some work, nonetheless. But taking it as easy as I can because I have to be in Tasmania Thursday night and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to talk about poetry on Friday and Saturday. Bring on the cold remedies!