... not.
This month's period is being a real bitch-kitty -- it feels like someone is scouring my cervix with a bottle brush. >.< I usually don't have pain this localized or this intense, but ibuprofin seems to be keeping it under control for the most part.
I just finished the last interior page on HB #10 *dies*. Now there's only a five-page preview of HB #11 to finish, and George has already laid all the flats on it. I should be finished before 1 am.
The book is way behind deadline. This time it is mostly my fault. *shrugs* There isn't much I can do about that -- the editor has accepted that I am grieving and just not working up to my full capacity. I guess I just have to recognize and accept it too.
Emotionally and physically I feel like shit on a shingle. Even reminding myself that I work in the coolest job of all, comics, doesn't seem to be helping. All I want to do is curl up in bed with a heating pad, a Nero Wolf mystery (yes, I'm getting hooked on them), and a bowl of La Cocina tortilla chips (a brand that seems to be strictly a Winnipeg phenomenon, but they are light and crispy and oh so good).
Oh, and Diet Pepsi Jazz, the Caramel Cream flavor, totally rocks.
Tomorrow is the wiccaning ceremony for a friend's baby, which I plan to attend. More on that if and when I go.