Did you know that writers really can’t get disability insurance? I learned this a few years ago when we bought some new term life insurance policies. The salesman was doing his thing, trying to sell us insurance for every contingency under the sun, and he kept saying that disability insurance was a good idea. I was skeptical, but asked him to check into it.
A very disappointed salesman called me back later to say that as a writer, I wasn’t technically disabled unless I had no brain waves whatsoever. (Of course, then I’d be dead). So even if I’m in the hospital with broken bones, Ebola, or what-have-you, I’m expected to keep working.
So . . . why did I bring this up? Because the dreaded cold has now officially moved to my nose and though I’d really love to go to bed and let the antihistamines do their thing, I have to sit here and keep working. Hard. There are now eleven days remaining in my work schedule, and this book is a long way from being done. Of course it will be done, Lord willing, because I have carefully appropriated a certain number of pages to those remaining eleven days (this is where my obsessiveness becomes apparent), but that means no naps. No disability claims.
That’s okay–I’d much rather have a cold than Ebola or what-have-you . 🙂