The joys of being sick are manifold.

You can’t work too much, or else you’ll collapse. You know if you’ve coughed too much: you crack a rib. You can’t concentrate on anything more profound than knitting or fiction, and in fact, the act of holding a book is entirely too much.

No, but really. There’s a lot of academic work that really ought to be done by this evening – academia!lite, if you will, but still present. The NEWTs are ever-looming. Sigh.

And all I want to do is write fic. I feel emotionally worn out – and what activity better to engage in, than a little bring-back-to-baseline fic writing? What indeed.

Verily, yea, it is meet and right so to do. It shall be done. Maybe I’ll even finish the fic I’m working on and be able to post it. How exciting would that be? Hm…