Sick

I went to work this morning after missing work yesterday, but I didn't stay long. I couldn't write. I was utterly befuddled by the most simple tasks. I was able to cut and paste a document, but I couldn't make connections and link sports results to words used to describe them. I also couldn't figure out how to write up the police log or do the basic research to figure out what happened in a homicide I was reporting on from Tuesday.

It was terrifying.

I am a writer. That's not what I do, it's what I am. And being unable to do that, apparently from a nasty cold, was devastating. I came home in tears and curled up in my bed sobbing for hours. Eventually I had to drink water and get something to eat, but I still felt miserable. I've been trying to write since then, which is why I'm writing this now.

I've spent a lot of the day, when I was awake and not just telling myself I am a complete failure, thinking about a variety of topics. I've been pretty scattered all day. But words aren't really coming to me. I'm not really able to think logically. And it really is irritating.

Right, I think I'll watch a little TV before dinner and try to get my brain back.