next year i guess

my new year's plans have been thwarted by a bad head cold. i hope it isn't the bird flu, although i don't eat meat so it probably isn't. although again, it's me we're talking about so that kind of tragic irony would be completely appropriate. suffice it to say that i, once again, am relegated to my shack-hut where i will continue to cough up nothing while the rest of the world has that salient, once-a-year excuse to kiss at midnight. i'll just listen to fireworks and conjure up images of the fantastically good times all others in the world are having ringing in the new year. you all will never have as much fun as you are having right now in my own imagination. enjoy.