It’s okay to miss a day.
Yesterday I got a sniffle, then a cough, then fell deeply tired. Then I missed everything today. I didn’t freak out too badly about the corona virus, or Super Tuesday. Grace, I guess.
That, and my fever, never high, abated. I don’t have hypochondriacal tendencies, but is a little unnerving to read about deadly pandemics while one sits at home ill.
Am thankful for one very long nonfiction series on babies, and another very long fiction series on harlots. Interest in both has kept my mind engaged, so my body would stay relatively still and sedate and rest.
Babies can crawl very very early, if put on a skateboard like contraption.
Although I am nervous about what I missed today, in the scheme of eternity, the effect will probably be zero.
Also I did the dishes. Extremely proud of that.
I spent a relatively small amount of time fretting about what I missed today, and how I would work double or triple time to make it up.
Eh. People get sick. People stop writing, and start.
Fin.
