I was miserably sick all weekend and got nothing done. On the upside, I did have a Firefly watching marathon, and damn does that show hold up after time. I was shocked to realize it ran in 2002! Almost a decade ago! But Joss Wheadon is a master storyteller, even if he has a nasty habit of killing off beloved characters.
This morning, I still felt weak, but much MUCH better, so I hauled it over to the coffeeshop, half-laid on my favorite couch there, and wrote. And wrote and wrote. The word count was still painfully slow, but I made it to 2k today, what I used to average when I was deep in a book, but haven't been able to manage since I started writing full time again last week. It felt good to hit the milestone today. Like--breathe out, yes, my fingers and brain can remember how to do this, even if they were a little rusty at first. I'm not broken, just a little out of practice ;)
I was weary again this afternoon when I finished (probably pushed too hard after being ill), but it didn't matter how weak and shaky I felt. I'd written. There's no more satisfying and uplifting feeling in the world.