Man, I wrote the most amazing fic

[gwyn]

Last night. In my head. Cold medicine makes me come up with these really beautiful things. And I just lay there, waiting for the damn stuff to work and fully put me to sleep, and wrote this little Battlestar Galactica Adama and Roslin thing, post-"new Caprica" but pre-ending of the second season. And, you know, goddammit. I can't remember anything much about it at all. Crap crap crap. And somewhere in the middle of the night or wee hours of the morning, I came up with some great stuff for the stalled out Measure of a Man. Why can't I do this when I'm not loopy and sick? Why???

Eeyore was so right: This writing business, pencils and whatnot. Overrated, if you ask me.