Monday, May 03, 2010

Free-lance writers generally have a good life, but the thing is, there's no sick leave. If we go down, it's hard to produce. Over the last month, I've worked with more selections from the Merck Manual than from my Newza da Weird pile of candidates. It's been a slo-o-o-ow slog. It has finally caught up to me. There will be no Chuck's Weekly Intel tomorrow. Assuming an amazing recovery, I'll be better by next Monday and Tuesday. For the record, I've been struck by two painful muscular-skeletal disorders, one virus (possibly two), two adverse reactions to medications, and the threat (jury still out on it) of two invasive surgeries. The upshot is that even if I had a Lamborghini of a brain (harsh reality: most days, it's maybe a nicely-equipped Accord), lots of things could make it run like a 1978-or-so VW diesel. Anyway, I need to get back to work. What would really be sweet is if Congress passed one of those agricultural-support-type programs so that writers, and not just farmers, got paid for not producing things.
(editor of Chuck Shepherd's Nearly-Weekly Intelligence Briefing)