I've come down with something that I will call a "flu" - whatever it is, it saw me gradually feeling run-down yesterday, that led me to bed around 5:00 o'clock. With a couple of risings to pee and check email during the next 17 hours, I essentially slept until noon today.
I'd like to blame it on my doctor, but I can't. No disease I know off has such a short incubation period.
Anyway. I woke up around noon and forced myself onto my bicycle in order to purchase cat food and a couple of sundries from the (relatively) local Price-Chopper. During that trip, my card was eaten by a bank-machine, I cursed at several sloppy drivers and then came home.
And forced myself to stay up and type up a second draft of the Ignatieff essay. It now stands at over 3,500 words and I have to say I am pretty proud of myself for spending 5 hours at the keyboard working. Especially when sick.
What I would really like would be to have someone call me and suggest a beer - or I would like it (not that I am expecting you, or you, or, especially, you! to follow through on your (no doubt) long-forgotten promises and actually do so; I am slowly learning that the vows of livejournal friends are usually worth are significantly less than the pixels used to display them) were it not for the fact that I expect I will be back in bed within the next 45 minutes.
Apropos of nothing in particular, I was out yesterday afternoon, in search of a bottle of NyQuil (which I ended up having to use my bicycle to get), when I ran into an old acquaintance, whose arm was in a sling.
"What the hell happened to you?" I asked.
"Got hit by a car," he said, and explained that he had been bombing down The Queensway when he felt a car bump his rear tire.
"Jesus!" I said - as what else can one say?
He went on to explain that he was "bumped" several times before he lost control and had his crash. "My helmet - and I only bought it about three weeks ago - was totaled."
The cops, apparently, claim the accident wasn't a hit-and-run but that he crashed all on his lonesome.
And I found myself, despite his protestations, wondering if that wasn't the case.
Now, I have never been in the situation where I was cycling at 35 kilometres an hour and been bumped by an on-coming car. But, were it to happen, I find it hard to believe I would be able to maintain my balance long enough for said on-coming car to bump me several more times before I crashed.
The acquaintance tends to go on, so I interrupted him, explaining for the second time that I was sick and on the hunt for NyQuil.
Meanwhile, I've replied to a couple of remarkable ads on craigslist but have not received any replies. Nevertheless, it's good to know there are - in absolute terms - quite a lot of women out there who have a way with words. Gives Young Geoffrey hope, it does.
All right. Time for another dose of NyQuil and another 16 hours of sleep.