Sunday in Fluville

Watching the Oscars after a 4 hour nap, biding my time until I can go back to bed. The only movie I've see up for anything is The Incredibles. I was a bad movie goer this year. Oh, wait, I saw Spider-man 2, also. I really didn't see many flicks though. I'm upset that Shaun of the Dead isn't up for anything. It was such a good movie. I should watch that again soon. It's not like I'm going anywhere any time this week. I don't think I'm even going to go to therapy this week. My voice is so bad I don't want to spend an hour talking and another week without my real voice.

I'm in the mood to write, but the energy it would take is the only thing that's keeping me upright right now. I wonder why illness makes me feel creative. Is it the hallucinogenic feel of a fever that I'm mistaking for creativity? Or is it the lack of energy to do anything physical that makes my inner playthings come to life?

I wish someone would make me some soup.