I had a great many plans for yesterday. In fact, I had two complete plan 'packages,' allowing me the choice of a) spending the day at the Sacramento Zoo with my mother, my sister (Melissa), my sister's wife (Mary), and my sister's three step-kids, or b) staying at home sipping faux-Mimosas -- Crystal Light orange mixed with Diet 7-Up, DON'T JUDGE ME -- while starting the end-to-end rewrite on Late Eclipses of the Sun and prepping the next few 'Velveteen vs.' stories.

Instead, I spent the day either a) face-down in the toilet, praying for the sweet embrace of death, b) face-down on my mattress, praying for the sweet embrace of death, c) passed out on the bathroom floor, praying for the sweet embrace of death, or d) at the urgent care, where they gave me IV fluids and scolded me for spending so much time unconscious before seeking medical care. Being as I don't have a car, and the buses on Sunday are practically non-existent, I bore my scolding with valiant disdain, and concluded by throwing up on one of the attending nurses. Sorry about that.

The zoo would have been a lot more fun.

In other news, all of my deadlines for the week have officially been pushed back two days on account of plague, which ate my Sunday and has turned Monday into 'invalid recovery zone' territory. I am keeping fluids down at this point, and may even risk such extravagant splurges as Saltines and a shower. Sometime. Soon. Not now, however, as my head is still full of angry weasels, and I'm still not sure I'm over that whole 'praying for death' thing.

Plague: much more fun to read about than it is to experience. Seriously.