…like this overflowing recycling bin behind my building. It is always–I mean, ALWAYS–like this, because all the Gen Zedders here do nothing except order online and consoom. Can someone convince me they aren’t completely useless? Anyone at all?!

I’m keeping this extremely brief, because I’m currently in bed trying to make sure that everything permanently bolted down in my body (vital organs, etc) does not escape from either end.

Graphic, sure. Gross, perhaps. But some massive bug hit me violently this morning, and I’m hoping it’s “just” norovirus (which clears up in about two or three days) and not Ebola or AIDS or dengue or rickets or Crimean-Congo Hemorrhagic Fever. If it’s any of those things, you can have my stuff.

The Rickets. I’ve always thought that would be a terrific band name.

I actually wanted to write today about how I just haven’t felt like writing lately. That’s how it goes, isn’t it? I think it’s my massive guilt for not posting here properly in a while, but I really have not had the motivation. I know it’s work, and I’ve done loads of it, and I never write anything for the sake of just plonking something on here. I’m sure every creative person in this world has taken a week or two off from their…what is it, anyway? A calling? A vocation? An artistic drive? A mission? It sure isn’t an obsession; it’s something that I just do, and always have done, whether I like it or not. But I have three different essays and a book draft on the go right now, and the idea of tackling any of them presently just makes me want to walk away for a while and feast on some raspberry-lime sorbet and a cute boy.

Or rather, it did. Today I only wanted to gnaw on saltines, sip seltzer water, clean out my puke bowl, and pathetically attempt to keep reapplying lip gloss so I didn’t feel like such a ghoul. I mean, I usually like to think of myself as a bit of a sexy thing, but I have never been less “sexy” and more like a “thing” than I am right now.

Anyway. Perhaps this is God biologically smiting me for avoiding that which I am supposed to do. I have never been smited (smote?) before, but I think I believe in all of that now. Once I’m better, I’ll get back to my literary duties, both here and towards my manuscript. It’s just so much damn writing, I really burnt out this last small while. But my punishment is seriously Old Testament stuff; I might just believe. I know my bathroom sure does.

More than a feelin’,

Nadya.