so this weekend I read Joe Young's magnificent Easter Rabbit (a review later), wrote a few creepy vsfs, then was seized by overly dramatic side effects of my cold that required a trip to Urgent Care and scared the living crap outta Dean (think allotriophagy if you're in a Cotton Mather frame of mind).
My symptoms were really easy to misinterpret, and my grasp on consciousness was not always steady, so there was a moment there of me thinking, as I dizzily tried to clean up, "Hmm. Might die. I liked the drafts I wrote this weekend. Dean could finish them easy."