blargle.

I started fighting this cold sometime Saturday morning. Now, at 1:10 Thursday morning, I think it's safe to officially declare that the cold has won.

Coughing so much it's keeping me up. Blown my nose so much it's started bleeding. Head throbbing worse than usual. No antihistamines in the house, Linda, and no Nyquil either--it may not help a cold, but it knocks me out, which I'd consider a win right about now.

A couple hours ago I told the Future of Comics (II) John Keane that I wished this irritating malady would either blossom into a full-blown sickness or go away, and this is what I get for it.

I wish someone would give me enough money so I could go to the New York Comic Con in February (ideally, but not necessarily, in exchange for something I wrote).

OK, it's a long shot, but who knows. It seems like I got my wish once today, why not see if I can get a streak going on something that doesn't involve me being miserable?

Oh wait--going to conventions does make me miserable.

Never mind.

A