Being sick? It's getting old.

Things seemed to be getting better yesterday. Heather's got her appetite back, and seems generally to be on the mend. Me, not so much. We went down to San Leandro for Teddy's birthday party (she was once the officebaby, and is now the officekid, soon to be the officekindergartener! Though she won't be in the office as much then). That was fun -- good food, good hospitality, and I got to talk to Mark Budz for a while (we have the same book editor). Heather and I stayed a few hours, but we were pretty tired and feeling low, so we left around 7:00. Didn't do much when we got home, either. I went to bed at a reasonable hour, thinking one more good night's sleep might fix me... but nope. Woke up around 9 a.m. with a horrible cough, that deep-down-in-the-lungs, feels-like-stuff's-tearing-inside kind of cough. My throat hurt worse than ever, and I was a little feverish. Now, many hours later, I feel marginally more human, thanks to lots of tea and a variety of cold medications. I almost never get sick for this long, and it's pissing me off.

I'm going to work tomorrow anyway, though. I missed a day and a half last week, and I don't want to get too behind. Working on a monthly magazine means there's always stuff that's gotta be done. Today I'm going to mainline citrus and keep drinking tea, etc. We need to go grocery shopping, and work on Flytrap mailing, but beyond that I'm going to take it easy, and try to go to bed early. Wish me luck.

Y'all probably saw this on BoingBoing or wherever already, but Nina Gordon's cover of "Straight Outta Compton" is our current favorite music in the PrattShaw household.

Um. Brain is scattered. What else... got the car smogged successfully, and paid the registration. Of course, the engine is making funny noises, and the smog-checker thinks it might be the water pump. I should get it checked out sometime. More to do...

I'm reading Lint by Steve Aylett, and have mixed feelings. (It's a biography of pulp SF author/visionary Jeff Lint, who never actually existed.) It's amusing, and very readable, and there are moments of surreal brilliance, and I genuinely love the bit with the single "magic bullet" that's responsible for most of the major political assassinations of the 20th century. But overall I'm not sure what it adds up to... it's really just a big SF in-joke. Then again, maybe I just want it to be something it isn't. Taken for what it is, I think it's quite successful.

We did some housecleaning yesterday, which was sorely needed but perhaps not the best idea for someone with sinus troubles. Lots of dust stirred up, and I felt like I had the lungs of a coal miner by mid-afternoon. But now we can walk on the hardwood floors without dirt and cat hair sticking to our toes!

Um. Thus ends this chronicle.