...plus kidneys kicking back at me again. Can you say: "I feel like crap?"

The good news [she says sarcastically] is that I've actually gone backward on the new short story. Deleted two pages instead of adding new ones. But oh well. Onward. (What is it  with me and editing, anyway?  Am I the only writer who seems to edit herself right out of a career???) (Me to publisher: "Well, I had a nice story all  worked out for you, but as the days went on, the pages disappeared.")

I am sick in bed, even as I type this. Propped up with pillows, trying with all my might not to feel sorry for myself. (I hate when I can't get my work done -- can you say: "workaholic"?) Gosh I can't wait for spring... I am longing to be out among the trees and flowers already!!

But being sick in bed reminded me of Robert Louis Stevenson's The Land of Counterpane. I used to love that poem when I was a little girl. In case you never read it, here you go! (And have a comfy day, wherever you are, okay? Thanks for dropping in.) (sniffle sniffle)

The Land of Counterpane
by Robert Louis Stevenson

When I was sick and lay a-bed,  I had two pillows at my head,  And all my toys beside me lay,  To keep me happy all the day.  And sometimes for an hour or so  I watched my leaden soldiers go,  With different uniforms and drills,  Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;  And sometimes sent my ships in fleets  All up and down among the sheets;  Or brought my trees and houses out,  And planted cities all about.  I was the giant great and still  That sits upon the pillow-hill,  And sees before him, dale and plain,  The pleasant land of counterpane.