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I was a bit unwell this weekend. Which is understating it, really; it was the sort of massive head cold that stalks you in the dark alley, works you over with a splintered table leg, and finishes up by stuffing you into a trash can of cold manicotti and coffee grounds. No, really. Sunday I could have really used some FlintstonesTM Chewable Morphine. Damn the Harrison Narcotics Tax Act of 1914! I'm mostly recovered now, happily. And little of note happened. At least, notable here. But I'm reminded I should come with some content now and then.

Reading: A little late holiday fare: The Christmas Mummy, by Heather Shaw and Tim Pratt, and The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus, by L. Frank Baum.


Yikes! Glad you're feeling better!

Take care. Get well.

It's no fun being sick; glad you're on the mend! And I hope you like The Christmas Mummy!

Mmmm... Dino grape-flavored morphine.

Those are some very fine metaphors there, but glad you're getting over them.