The voices in my head don't think they're imaginary - I’ve gone viral

Or to be more precise, something’s gone viral on me. Yes, someone among the skulking lot of disease-ridden individuals at WFC managed to breach my defenses and fulfill the mindless will of their viral overlord. Whoever you are, you have infected me. My lungs are filled with itchy cottage cheese, my eyes are drippy, and when I cough, all my bones rattle. I find the transmission of disease, while an all-too common occurrence at cons, a very emotionally-unsatisfying form of personal contact. I would much rather have a nice neckrub. Please keep this in mind for future reference.

In other news, I attended the Underland Press reading last night, which was lovely, despite my constant coughing. There was a fine turnout of locals (some of whom I didn’t get to say more than “hi” to … C.S. Cole, let’s catch up at Orycon, yes?)  I was quite intrigued by Jeff Johnson’s reading from his book “Tattoo Machine.” I’ll have to get ahold of a copy of that. I got to meet Kip Manley, a Portlander who does the very cool serialized adventure novel City of Roses, and I got to hang out with Cat Rambo & her crew of merry pranksters. And we even got Voodoo Donuts afterward!

Then I came home and finished reading “Soulless” by Gail Carriger. This was one of the “it” books of WFC, and I can see why. What a delightful confection. I’ll post a full review later, after I feel confident it’s not just the Cherry NyQuil clouding my judgement and tinging everything with its delightful rosy glow. Ah, Cherry NyQuil. You shall always be La Fee Rouge to me.

Originally published at M.K. Hobson | Necrophilatelist. Please leave any comments there.