I don't like whining about stuff, but last winter was miserable. I spent three months being sick and getting barely enough work done. It was expensive, because it delayed the release of Schlock Mercenary: Emperor Pius Dei by about six months (no, no... don't try to do month-math on this. Just trust me that three down equals six late) and that in turn put tight crimps in my budget.
Last week I got sick, and three days in I felt pretty much like I did last winter, eight weeks in, just before we started my third round of antibiotics in an effort to finally kick what had grown into a full-blown case of pneumonia. So, rather than tough it out like I did eleven months ago, I went straight to the doctor and demanded to be fixed.
[obligatory neutering joke goes here]
If you've been following my twitter feed you've already been treated to some of the details, along with this gem:
I don't have pneumonia, but what I do have seems to be responding to the latest round of treatments. Yesterday I started taking two different steroids along with the usual albuterol, and I woke up this morning feeling almost human. Yes, I've been rinsing carefully. No, I haven't heard a thing from the proto-Whoville in my mouth.
Today I have an ambitious plan to pencil two weeks of comics and get at least three days inked. As of this writing the buffer stands at 12. By Saturday I want to have it at 21. And then, fair reader, I will have inked the last pages of "Force Multiplication," and can begin Schlock Mercenary Book 13, in which (if my outline is to be believed) there is betrayal, ancient technology, flashbacks, a shakedown cruise, and a bunch of Gavs.
Ideally, I start Book 13 on Monday. You start it on November 13th.
And now, because I don't want you non-tweety folks left out of the fun, here is a picture of me with no shirt. Also, no skin.
The armchair radiologists among you may now begin diagnosis.