I think I've just turned into a big old snail, attached to my sofa. Yesterday I felt crappy most of the day, finally fell asleep in mid-afternoon, got up, went over to a friend's house, cheerfully talked about how I was "much better now", because I thought I was--and promptly collapsed back onto the sofa, sick and dizzy and miserable, about a minute after I got back to our house.

So maybe this thing really is going to hang on a while longer. (NOT six weeks! Please not six weeks!) The worst part is that Nika spent yesterday being really ill too, so she lay moaning on her chair (literally--her stomach was really, really hurting her), while I lay (not moaning, of course) on the sofa. Poor Patrick.

But anyway. The good news, of course, is that this means I'm doing an awful lot of reading. Patrick worked from home yesterday, so in the morning he carried down a pile of my most serious Comfort Books: Caroline Knapp's Pack of Two, Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird, and of course Mr. Popper's Penguins, for Serious Comfort. Also, last night I borrowed copies of Jon Courtenay Grimwood's Stamping Butterflies, Steph Swainston's The Year of Our War, and a biography of Captain Sir Richard Francis Burton, for some variety. And we watched Runaway Jury, which was--like all the other Grisham-novels-turned-movies--fun and tense and a good way to spend an evening on the sofa.

And of course I've been plotting what to do once I permanently arise from the sofa. (Besides work frantically to catch up on academic stuff, of course.) I would really, really love to get to WisCon for at least a day...but 8 hours' drive each way makes a day trip seem...well...a little impractical... Ah well. I'll work on it.

Now, back to the sofa!