Yup. I called it. Things have gotten worse before they get better. This summer cold of mine really ground me in its teeth today, and man does that suck.

I feel somewhat better now, probably because the worst of the day’s heat is over and things are starting to cool off. Plus, I finally manages to haul myself out of bed and get some supper into me.

There is no illness that low blood sugar and heat sickness can’t make worse.

And the thing is, I knew that I should be getting out of bed to go refill my water glass with ice water and maybe have the occasional light snack. I can’t claim I was just lying there wondering what to do.

I was just too incoherent to put together a plan of action and execute it. There is a point of no return for things like this, a point where I am no longer capable of fixing the problem, and the idea is to stay out of that zone no matter what.

Today, I lost that little game, so the afternoon sucked. I managed to sleep through about two thirds of it, which is always a good thing when you are ill, but the rest of the time I was awake and feeling miserable and grumpy.

Oh well, I am alive and kicking now, and I have a nice big glass of water to nurse, and freezies in the freezer (sugar free, all juice, pure heaven) for when I feel I need a more radical form of cooling.

Hopefully, I am past the worst of it and will be on the road to recovery soon. I have therapy tomorrow and I would hate to have to reschedule because I am too ill to navigate the public transit system.

Or rather, to walk to the damned bus stop after therapy. If I had rides both ways, I would go without a though. The therapy itself doesn’t require a hale and hearty me. But as is right now, my appointment is at 9 : 30 am so Joe can drop me off on the way to work. But after that, I am on my own for getting home.

That’s not normally a problem, especially now that I understand what Skytrain to get on from Bridgeport. (Hint : Not ones with ‘airport’ or ‘waterfront’ on them).

But this illness is really draining my already less than robust energy supplies, and so hauling myself down to the bus stop near Costco, then up to the platform, then down from Richmond-Brighouse to the 401, then from 1 and Francis to home… that is a lot of schlepping for a sick Fru.

Meh. Either way, I will make it. I value therapy very highly (apparently, some don’t. which strikes me as terribly immature) and I will get there by hook or crook or even the bus.

What else. Oh, something awesome : Patrick Quigley, the awesome guy who handled my (unsuccessful but not his fault) application, emailed me to say he is going to try to get VFS to refund my $50 application fee.

If he can do that, I would really appreciate it. I am somewhat low on cash right now, and I could really use the do’h. Obviously, there are some people at VFS who are still unhappy with how I was treated, and I find that highly gratifying.

Usually, when I am a victim of injustice, nobody knows and nobody cares.

Speaking of injustice, I got Simon’s email address from Patrick, and sent an email to him today. I chose what those familiar with Anne Of Green Gables will recognize as the “Mrs. Lynde” approach, in that I apologized deeply for being rude, told him I understood how hard his job must be, and humbly asked him to help with my search for an appropriate writing course or two.

I am having trouble with that. So far, all I have found are fly-by-night courses of the “$15 gets you a two hours seminar at a Radission Inn” type, and at the opposite end, full degree programs that take two years to finish.

Um, no. What I need is some single-semester courses of the continuing education sort than I can blow out of the water and then hand the wrecking over to Simon before Xmas, and maybe get into VFS in the new year.

There is no point in taking a stupid $15 course on How To Write And Publish Your eBook In 21 Days (listen buddy, I know how to write them) because if I was Simon, all that would prove is that I had $15 to spare.

and obviously, there is no point in taking a two year associate’s degree (lame) just to qualify for a one year Writing for Film and Television course.

So I will have to keep digging. Surely somewhere out there are single-semester courses for bored housewives who want to finally get down to writing that novel they have been meaning to write since they were in college.

What else… I was also planning on calling and asking about that house we have our eye on today, but I don’t think I am up to it. Sigh. Perhaps tomorrow I shall muster up the wherewithal to do it.

We are running out of time and I am terrified someone will snap it up before we even make the call, but there is only so much I can do.

Ah well, this too shall pass. One way or another, it will all work out, and by this time next year this stressful period of my life will be nothing but an amusing anecdote of the time when everything in my life was suddenly happening all at once.

An anecdote I will recount with breezy yet self-deprecating wit as I hobnob with the creative hoi polloi of Hollywood North and meet everybody who is anybody in the world of actually writing the damned thing.

Those scripts aren’t delivered by angels, people!

I will talk to you again tomorrow, folks, hopefully with full lung capacity back.