February 4th, 2005


Hey, is that my navel?

Being sick turns me into a horrid human being -- a perpetually whining five year old, with more than a touch of absolute pathetic misery. I am one with the drama of my reactions to things, but the issue is that I pretend I'm not sick and pretend I'm not sick until suddenly walking across the room is sort of an effort. This is, probably, why I get sick so often. I mean, if I'd give in to it - take my medecine, get some sleep -- I'd probably do a whole lot better.

One day I'm going to learn that sheer will power does not actually have the power to cure, no matter how good a metaphor it may be.

Anyway, speaking of metaphors, norah asked about writing style in her post earlier today. (See that ham-handed segue? If I wasn't sick, I would have been slicker about it. You can bet your boots on that, cowhands and cacti.) She asks if people feel as though they have a style, and if so where voice comes from, and many writerly things of that nature.

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