Sickyface

So, I didn't come down with meningitis -- knock on wood -- but I do have a mucus monster living in my lungs. You could shoot a cough medicine commercial in my bronchioles. The monster might look cute and cartoonish, but I would pay you to chop its head off, trick it into jumping off a cliff, or drown it in sunflowers, whatever looks good.

I got my packet in earlier today, and that spells an entirely different kind of relief. My big essay on flashbacks came out to around 12 pages, and I am well pleased.

I had one of those nightmare moments this afternoon when I thought I'd lost my final version of the paper. It seemed to have reverted to a recovered version from an earlier time when my computer shut down on me. It would have meant losing a ton of polished text. I hope I didn't actually lose it. I'd saved many times since this recovered version, so it would have been weird. I hope it was hiding somewhere tricky in my computer, but regardless, I'd emailed myself a backup copy -- not something I usually do -- which saved the day, and my sanity. I sort of like those days where every brush with unlucky gets an equally lucky answer. It makes me feel blessed and competent at the same time.

So, I beat the computer. Beat the monster. Beat TAXES. Beat the packet.
And now I'm going to bed.

Currently reading: The Big Empty by J.B. Stephens