At least that's how I feel.
2 weeks ago everyone else in my household got this cold from hell. I didn't. I washed my hands like Lady Macbeth at her most paranoid best and downed OJ like it was going out of style. And of course, in my hubris, I attributed my healthy self in the face of plague to my force of personality.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I now have this plague. It feels like my head is in the aforementioned goldfish bowl, my throat is coated with lava, and there's an elephant sitting on my chest.
And my agent sent me back the manuscript for "The House of Many Doors" for a final typo check before shopping it in NY next month. A word of advice: do not try to proofread when you're taking cough medicine with codeine in it.
In fact, do not try to do much of anything except curl up on the sofa with the warm, furry pet of your choice (my dog, Tigger, is mine) and sleep.