So yes. I am lazing about in penguin pajamas; I have finished two books today and am about to start on another one.
I feel that I am very consciously breathing *around* the pneumonia, carefully navigating. My chest hurts sometimes, but disappearing into books helps take my mind off it.
I get tired very easily, but sleep only fitfully.
I don't have sufficient brain to write fiction today. A spot of nonfiction in a certain filter, yes. But while my brain can jump into other people's books, it's not navigating my own as well as I want it to, and I am very particular about doing things just as well as I can or not at all; I find that sometimes when I write a scene it gets set in stone, and I don't want to do that half-assed. So. I will hope for a clearer path tomorrow.
And now I go back to my warm bed with the new Jasper Fforde.