Alrighty, I don't want to die anymore. Pretty vicious run-in with the ol' sinuses yesterday, but thankfully the worst has passed (leaving only the refreshing scent of Brut) In either case, I am back and more or less happy to be so. While refreshing, vacations--especially the variety where no personal work is actually done--seem to be largely counterproductive if over extended. As it stands, my little break from the world seemed to be just about the right length (horrible illness on the return notwithstanding).

Along those lines, however, no writing was accomplished, no progress on any long term projects made and, aside from a promising snippet between myself and Ungeziefer, no musical headway was made. But I did sleep a lot and got to eat at a variety of tasty botique-style resturaunts otherwise unavailable to me. So what does all this mean, you ask? It means I have a lot of catch-up work to do. I'm setting an informal deadline for the short story for the end of next week and beginning of June as a start date for the rest of lilies of the field. Of course these are informal at best and are likely to be disposed of at my first convenience, but it does effectively mark the beginning of guilt for not getting more accomplished. So, there's that...

Finally, a parting tongue in cheek dedication to a certain Playtpus:
A fanatic is one who can't change his mind and won't change the subject.
-Sir Winston Churchill

-Joe