I appear to be sick with something. Perhaps it's just a cold. It's useless to say I never get colds, because I seem to be rather wracked with one now. People say if you have a runny nose, which I did have the first couple of days, it's not covid. But that might be a myth, according the research I was doing on Dr. Google at 4 a.m. last night when I couldn't sleep. My eyes hurt, but I don't have a fever, so that's a check for the plus column.
I'm not too sick to work, and so I am pressing on with the book. I have been making good progress, and am now at 82K words, just three thousand more to make word count. It's now apparent that I will blow right past word count, as I probably have more than 3K words of the story still to tell. I'm at the point of jettisoning all sorts of ideas and trying to figure out where to end what is essentially an ongoing story, one that changes not just daily, but hourly. Wish me inspiration, please.
How are you all doing out there? I won't even talk about the national nightmare that is the president. Every time he comes on our TV screen we change the channel. I just can't. I did read that a doctor in Italy said they were no longer treating people over 60 for covid. And the Lieutenant Governor of Texas seems to think that might not be such a bad idea.
Real talk? I'm scared. More than I have been able to admit until this moment, right here. I don't want to die before seeing my grandchildren. I don't want my husband to get sick. Or anyone I love. Or anyone. Wish me courage, wish me faith, please.