Kage Baker was an annual victim of warm weather respiratory infections.

She caught colds all spring and summer; by August, midway between the Spring and Autumn Renaissance Faires, she was usually working on a repeat round of bronchitis. She used to morbidly predict the onset of bronchiectasis – from which her idol, Robert Louis Stevenson, suffered- but she was tougher than poor, dear RLS. All he did was grow up in Edinburgh, affectionately known as Owd Reekie: Kage grew up in Los Angeles, and her lungs were probably up to resisting mustard gas.

We are tough breathers, we natives Angelinos.

But she still spent part of each Summer hacking spectacularly.

I was immune. I rarely caught so much as a cold  per year. This, despite smoking for 30 years and also growing up in California’s Valley of the Smokes; however, when my warranties all began to run out in my 60’s, I started catching colds. And flu. And strange unknown respiratory complaints, doubtless  from the cold dark spaces between the stars.

Or maybe I’ve developed some sort of allergy, too. I seem to be reacting to something blowing all unseasonal on the hot red wind, something that hasn’t bloomed since the last Ice Age; something ancient and evil now sending up its antique spores from the bottom of the sea ..

I sneeze on you, R’yleh, in drippy defiance! I blow my nose on you, you Elder gods! Even though and as my sinuses dissolve and run festering down my throat. The Black Goat with a Thousand Young can eat my used Kleenex!   … I just do not need this shit, you know?

Or maybe it’s just a summer cold. You never know. I’m gonna have some tea, hoard tissues and go to bed early. And I’m going to the Convention on Friday, regardless!