Well, this certainly wasn't the plan. Sitting on my couch all day. Sick. Sicker even than on my birthday.

My luck ran out. The Great Three Year Streak of Sickness Freedom broken.

Boy did I waste time today. I sat with a pointless resoluteness seldom touched by even the most slothful among us. Hours ticked by. I stared blankly at the innernet. Nothing happened.

A couple of hours ago I roused myself enough to feed the cat antibiotics and do one sliver of work on the album naming business, and typed one email. Then I trimmed my fingernails.

That's the extent of the day's accomplishments thus far.

I am however attempting to salvage something of the day even though I don't feel a whole lot better than before.

That means typing. Here. And maybe an email or two to those of you I owe them to. It's too late to get in the studio, and my head's too fuzzy to deal with that racket anyway.

So, in case you didn't notice, there was no dinner on Thursday night. I came home and fell asleep on the couch at 9:30 and moved to the bed at 11:30.

There was no group R32 nerd drive in the Malibu mountains (for me) this morning.

There was no party tonight.

At the rate this thing is going, tomorrow will be only a modest improvement on today, but we can always pray for miracles.

Thanks to the people who called or emailed Thursday. I'm sorry I'm not able to pull together a little event. I'm hewing to my conviction that birthday parties need to be on weekends adjacent to the actual birthday week day, if it's on a week day. That's now, and see above.