. . . you never know. By the time you read this, I might be pushing up the daisies, shuffling off this mortal coil, pining for the fjords. My plan, however, is to be deep into the merciful bliss of a Nyquil-induced sleep.
So let’s hope it is only a late-winter head cold that has put me in such desperate need of the sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, so-I-can rest medicine.
While I am probably not yet dead, then, I’m still not likely to be doing much blogging for the next several hours.
But for all you know, my wife and six kids are even now mourning my recent passing, so you should probably hit the tip jar just in case.
Cough cough. Sniff sniff.
Good-night . . .