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August 1970
Yeeurgh. I went into the office yesterday for our weekly tech meeting with a little tickle in the back of my nose, and when I left a couple of hours later, I knew that was the start of something bigger. Over the course of the afternoon, I could feel it spread and work its way down into my throat, as I became a bit tired and felt like my eyes were starting to crust over with something wet and itchy. Dammit, I don't want to be sick. Bernie, ever observant, has seen this many times before, and strongly encouraged me to not to anything but sit down, drink fluids, and consume some fresh media; I spent the rest of the day on the couch, downing Emergen-C, throat comfort tea, and soy chai while popping aspirins to fight off a creeping fever, We watched Dr. Strangelove, and I polished off Neal Pollack's new book about being a hipster dad. (He's not a particularly good writer, but the subject matter is certainly relevant, and much of the story takes place in Austin. It was fun to read about all these places I'm pretty familiar with, and he talks about hanging out with people I know, as well, which was kind of weird, in a good way.) I eventually fell into a snot-and-cough coma on the office beanbag, where I stayed passed out until just about now, with intermittent offers of water, ice cream, and E-C. Bernie and Pai just left to catch a movie at the Alamo's baby day shows - we were going to see Pan's Labyrinth, but I don't think I'm going anywhere. Maybe next week. So, let's stagger over to the computer and take a look at this stack of work that needs to be done...