Fever dreams...

...are what today seemed to have been made of. I was floating in and out of unreality, not sure what was really happening and what was my imagination running amok.

I woke up early this morning, and began the ritual of trying to contact clients in the East. I received one email which was, word for word, the same one that editor sent three weeks ago: he has to figure out how much space the article he was in such a hurry to get from me, and then he can tell me what should be on my invoice.

At least I got a response from him. He was the only one.

Amid the tumult of the morning, I was actually feeling feverish, as if I was starting to get the flu. That would have been the ultimate irony, as I got my flu shot yesterday. I know, I know...everyone says those dead flu critters in the vaccine can't hurt you. But what if one of 'em was merely comatose?

I may actually get past this wall that is staring me in the face. Not because any clients have suddenly said "gee, we should send you a check or two (or more)," but because a friend stepped up to the plate with an offer that should do the trick.

Figures. Someone who is not obligated to me in any way, who has made no promises, decides to help out of sheer goodness.

However -- and this is no knock on said friend at all -- I'm still floating in this half-calm, half-panicked state, and will be until things begin to get resolved.

I also feel an overwhelming need to acknowledge some people whose expressions of support moved me (I'll freely admit it) to tears, and still do. I'm not going to name names; all of you know, I hope, that I am indebted to you. It's a debt I will pay.

The cat was sick all morning. Gave me something to do besides sitting at my desk staring at the wall. Don't ask what. He's better now, thank goodness. It has always amazed me that animals can, well, reject their meals and seem perfectly happy a few moments later. Wish I could do that.

It's abundantly clear that some things will have to change. First, I need to pile up enough work to give me some breathing space once the checks do come in. Then, I'm going to be looking around to see if there is some other direction I can take. Historically, this is the longest I have stuck to a career; I made it through 18 years in the first, two in the second, and have been doing what I now do for 21 years.

A little late for a "mid-life crisis," but what the hell? When it happens, it happens.

All of this may seem like disjointed rambling. If so, it's an accurate representation of my state of mind.

At least it's better than not caring whether I walk away from the mess the last nine months have been. I was close to that, but I have a faint hope that I can somehow survive and prevail.

If nothing else, that would really irritate the people who are prepared to cheer if I crash and burn. But it would please those who really do care, some of whom have made their concern abundantly clear in recent days. That'd be so cool.

I have hope that tomorrow will be better.