It was awful, like it hadn’t been in a while. Then, it eased up out of the blue, as if the gear at the bottom of my spine suddenly started turning again, as if whatever had held it stuck in one place all day, pushing against itself, had been removed. I am still sore everywhere but I can walk as I normally do, not hunched over myself, at a 150 degree angle, which is what I did this morning when I very, very, very slowly walked to the chemist for William’s prescription.
It was not in any way the sort of duvet day I thought it would be and it never really is when illness is involved, but it was tangled with a movie after all, Collateral, which I watched for the third time in two days and for an extra two times in French as well. Yes, you got it figured out, it played in a loop all afternoon, including when I managed to edge myself in the shower for a very hot muscle relaxant water jet.
I have practised my pitch for tomorrow’s meeting all day. I recorded every single one, trying to elude all pauses, all uhs, all ehrms, all aaaaaands and all you knows which I never feel compelled to use, unless a tape recorder is on. Around about take one hundred and fifty I realised that I did not sound as horrible as I thought around about take one and there is a great likelihood that there was in fact no actual difference; I am only getting used to hearing myself from the outside. I can see why some actors say they never look at themselves in pics or on film because they find it really cringe-worthy. But, you see, I know better. I know better because I am already day-dreaming of book signings and of book talks and of radio interviews and of podcasts and so on and so, I’d better be ready, non?
