The Tower

Passed the day in a haze of insufficient sleep and undefined wooziness, wishing for coffee and settling for Earl Grey (in no way adequate to the task). Tried to write, but everything took on a sexual edge; I quit in frustration, and spent the rest of the day in an indigo mood (indigo because it was between black and blue). As a result, I accomplished nothing: didn't clean, or read, or create. Didn't even relax. Ate leftovers. Browsed fanfic, played solitaire. Entertained morbid thoughts about friends dying and what funerary flowers were appropriate for whom. Cried a little about the idea of friends dying. Ate more leftovers, browsed more fanfic, played more solitaire. Should've thrown in the towel and gone to bed early despite waking up late, but kept staying up in the hopes I'd do something interesting or productive. Didn't.

Realization Dawns

Having slept for ten or eleven hours, I can now confidently say all the wooziness is the result of a head cold. The more censurious among you might blame this cold on Friday's decision to walk several miles in the rain without any rain gear, and then to drink half a bottle of wine and stay up past 6 a.m.. I, in my wisdom, suspect it has more to do with the fact that filming wrapped; my immune system probably nosedived once my stress level dropped. Classic.

Well, it looks like I'll be spending another day mainlining tea and being cranky that it doesn't help at all.