Saturday’s plan was simple: mail out copies of ROUND TWO to contributors, finish proofing a collection of my crime stories, and publish the next BTAP story on the webzine.
Reality: Staples had in stock only half of the padded mailers I needed, so fifteen out of thirty books were sent out, leaving more to do this week. Then, the Internet was working sporadically which meant the other items on the list were getting done in bits and pieces.
And to top it off, while taking an afternoon break watching GHOST PROTOCOL with the family, I discovered a bump on the top of my head that was kinda crusty. Dandruff? Not a stranger to that but when something popped and puss ran down my forehead, I jumped up and had Little d take a look. At first, it seemed like a pimple but when examined under the light, it looked more like a rash a good half dollar in size.
Off to the doctor—an old, country sawbones at that—who said it was too soon to tell. Could be a rash, could be an infection. It was in a spot difficult to diagnose so early, and because it had popped open, he suggested I should wait twenty-four hours to see what happens. “This is the same treatment I would give to my brother if he was sitting across the table from me and asked my opinion.” That didn’t make me feel any better, but I smiled kindly.
I left the office thinking about the time I slammed my head into the corner of a cabinet door in the camper a couple of weeks before. Was it that? An infection? Or it does resemble shingles—I had the chickenpox as a kid, so it could be that. Though shingles usually happens to men and women over fifty.
And now here I am. My Sunday is shot for the most part as I sit here and wait to go back to the doctor. Ava wants to go to the pool and Little d will take her. I’m going to read the Vin of Venus novella that Garnett Elliott sent to me. With fingers crossed for a simple infection and not shingles.
How’s your day/weekend going?