Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

OK, I'm officially ready for my cold to go away now. It's been hanging on since the end of my adventures in Otakon.

Every morning I wake up with what feels like a chest full of hot JELL-O.

But it's not too bad, as colds go. I don't have all the sneezing and coughing. But it's not terribly fun, either.

The only advantage to this is that if the aliens from "War of the Worlds" come down, I have nothing to worry about.

One other advantage is that it makes my voice sound a little like Jessica Rabbit. Or Kathleen Turner. And that's not a bad thing, for somebody who can't escape the label "cute."

Cold medicine can do interesting things to you. Somebody said to me recently that writing e-mail is a lot like having a mild buzz; it shaves away the top level of inhibitions. And cold medicine, on top of that, makes me absolutely drunk.

I remember this one time when I was working as a small-time newspaper reporter. I was at the county courthouse looking up that week's deeds, divorces and marriages decrees. I had taken some Benedryl, and I was standing there, looking through this huge book of absolutely devastatingly boring deed transfers. And I'm thinking, "I feel really good right now. I mean really good." This sunk in. "How on earth am I going to drive home?"

The one good thing about my previous job, where the office politics were so terrible I still have nightmares, was they gave us a flu shot every year. This made me practically immune to any sickness but it hardly made up for the emotional stress of working there.

A friend of mine last night e-mailed me a link to a Chagall painting and asked me what I knew about that painting.

"My former boss owns it," I said.

"Are you sure? It says the Chicago Institute of Art."

"Oh? Well, I thought it was that painting. It was a Chagall."

"Sorry."

He had big news; he's planning to audition for Iron Butterfly as soon as they decide to replace their recently deceased guitarist.

"Cool! Will you let me backstage?"

"Of course."

Six degrees of separation, baby. If you know me, you're already one degree closer to backstage Iron Butterfly passes.

I joked he'd have to wear flared pants and let his hair get bushy again. He didn't seem to mind. In fact, I think he considers it one of the perks.

But I digress.

Sometimes I envy my dog. She never gets sick (well, except for that time she had Lyme Disease). Other than that, she's been remarkably healthy. I think it has to do with living a pretty sheltered life. She's never, for example, been in a position where she took money from thousands of anime fans, some bills still damp from having been stored in people's socks.

Next time I'll wear gloves.

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

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