So much for that holiday bug

I'm feeling pretty useless and glum today. Took a sick day from work because I was headachey and congested and completely unable to get out of bed this morning, only to find myself completely restless after falling back to sleep for maybe another hour and a half. So I got up, and screwed around on the computer, even managing to wrap up the two short write-ups of local bookstores that were due to NewCity for its indie bookstore guide, but as usual I had a lot of trouble finding a sequence of words that pleased me, and when I finished this robe of despair enveloped me, causing suffocating thoughts like, "How the hell can you ever expect to finish a book if you can't even do a simple 150-word description of store?" and "You can only write prolifically when you abandon the rest of your existence...how the hell do you expect to be a novelist without the crutch of Eureka or workshops where there's a grade on the line?"

Yeah, lots of fun stuff. So I worked out on my Tony Little machine as a distraction, and it felt good to work up a sweat and I'm not as hopeless as I was a few hours ago, but I'm still overwhelmed and unmotivated.

Maybe this is my body and mind's way of signaling that I've been going nonstop for too long and need a day of doing nothing to recharge. That's usually the way these things go, so I think I'll hit the shower and then treat myself to someplace yummy for a late lunch.