When I walked from KGB to the PATH station last Wednesday evening, I knew by the time I hit the stairs that I'd get a cold. I realize that it sounds like I willed myself (to a degree) to get sick, but the fact is, when it's cold and windy, the first thing that happens is I get some kind of ear & throat infection. And by Friday, I was sick. I couldn't take time off from work, so I had to wait till I got home to collapse. I just crawled out of bed about half an hour ago. I feel better, but now I have hair like Carrot Top. Oh sweet jebus, the horror....

Tomorrow, I'm setting aside "The Four Hundred Thousand" for a bit to start work on an erotica story - I'd been panicking over it, because I started second-guessing my ability to write something worthy of an anthology invite (there's no guarantee the story will be accepted, as the invite is only to submit, not to publish). The backdrop of the story is supposed to be a kind of "Brokeback Mountain" cowboy theme - not necessarily gay, but specifically cowboys and that kind of uneasy blend of urban/Western environment they reside in today. I didn't think I could do it - what the hell do I know about cowboys? - until I remembered the many, many times I went to the Western Washington Fair (aka The Puyallup), and the huge rodeo/roping events they held there. The cowboys weren't of the rhinestone variety - they were rough and rugged and taciturn, very formidable-looking yet fascinating as I recall.... Well, you can see I have my story. I'll write it over the next week, then set it aside to give "TFHT" a last look before sending it out.

And now it's back to bed.