Sicktime Discoveries

For the past couple of days, I've felt miserable. Coughing, sinus drainage like a mo'fo. Drainage flowing into my lungs, into my mouth, out my nose, all sorts of ickiness. Couldn't sleep last night. Jaw still aching from trying to breathe through my mouth. Finally gave up and called in sick at work this morning, since I have little energy to speak of at the moment.

Of course, there are some benefits to being ill. One, if the vocal cords are affected, I can do a fairly mean Godfather impersonation with my raspy voice now. Another is that I can just lie down in bed and not feel that guilty about lying down and not doing anything; nobody wants you around when you're sick, you know.

But a third thing that comes from being sick happened this morning. While I normally take my almost-noon lunch break here at my house (since work is a 5-10 minute drive and I hate being closed in my claustrophobic education office cubicle), I managed to have time to see what was in my mailbox. Sometimes, when you're feeling icky and you know your breath reeks even more foul than that of Shakespeare's erstwhile mistress, little things amuse you even more. Take for example what I discovered in my mail:


I suppose by now some would have squeed! in delight at receiving an autographed book that one ordered from the editors of the just-released Steampunk anthology, Ann and Jeff VanderMeer, but sick people don't squee! If anything, they just gurgle, hack, cough, grin, smile, and carry the treasure to their bookshelves. At least this is what this sickly person chose to do in lieu of squeeage!

Now of course there were other books. These books doubtless would appeal to quite a few and since one of them forms part of my next paid reviewing arrangement, it might be best to show these off before the hacking, wheezing, and sniffing begins anew:


Sadly, the camera phone was being balky at this time, so besides the aforementioned book, here are its three delivery companions: The Queen's Bastard by C.E. Murphy; Black Ships by Jo Graham (this and Ursula Le Guin's Lavinia will be reviewed together as a piece for Strange Horizons, perhaps for a late June/early July issue); and The Brass Bed by Jennifer Stevenson (who wrote the delightful trash sex magic a few years ago).

But as much as I'd love to be torn by which to read first, the worst part of being ill, the lack of energy, is upon me. So it might be a day or two before I get to these. But they certainly were a nice cheer-me-up on a sniffly day like today.