I woke up drained. Too tired. Too many cons, too fast. I am starting to feel like a con zombie. I have never done anything in my life but sit at a table and wait for people to come buy stuff. I will never do anything else. The flesh is well rested, but the spirit is sulky and worn. I began glumly running off prints, and feeling the vague uncaring malaise of the walking wounded.

Then I tripped over a link to some idiot creationist blathering about “the missing link” and the fires of righteous wrath seared down my nerve endings, and I saw red, and snarled like a constipated wolverine, and was up and seething to fight another day.

My hot button issues get me in trouble a lot, but sometimes they’re pretty damn useful.