I am Florence-freaking-Nightingale when anyone in my family gets sick, making chicken soup (some like it with matzo balls, others with orzo, others with rice, so what goes in the pot all depends on who's sick), running to the store for medicine, holding someone's hand at the doctor's, and so forth and so on.
I am also first to admit I'm a piss poor patient.
When I get sick, I get grumpy. I can't help it; it's the way I'm programmed. When I'm under the weather and can't do the things I normally do, I get irritable.
Especially when it comes to writing. The voices in my head have absolutely no sympathy for poor, sick little me, you see. They chatter on, ever insistent that I write their story, with absolutely no consideration for me and my head cold/bronchitis/stomach flu/whatever. This only adds to my irritability factor.
Take yesterday and today for example. I woke up yesterday with laryngitis. Seriously, when I spoke I sounded like what you'd get if Janis Joplin and Barry White had a baby. My throat hurt, my glands are swollen, I'm running a temperature, and all I want to do is sleep.
Three a.m. rolls around. I'm in bed. I'm sleeping. There's drool on my chin. Suddenly, I'm sitting up, wide awake. Why? Because the voices in my head decided it would be a great time to give me a really good story idea.
And what happens when Kiernan gets a really good story idea?
She needs to write it down, or she'll forget it, that's what.
And once I'm awake enough to write something I might have the slightest chance of deciphering come morning, I'm up, period.
So that's where I am. Writing, swallowing medication, and making my own damn matzo ball soup, because everyone else in the house is asleep except for me and my voices.
And they wonder why I'm grumpy when I'm sick.