At time of writing, I should be uptown, looking over my slides and doing a mic check for my speaking gig at The Conference.

I should be there, but I’m actually still at home. Yesterday I ran the gamut all the way from vague sniffles in the morning to full fever by bedtime, which meant I had to screw on my grown-up trousers¹ and phone in a cancellation for today, because who wants to be the superspreader guy?

(Also honestly I’m not sure I could pull off the talk anyhow, though last night I still thought I might have been able to. I feel fucking awful, not to put too fine a point on it.)

I’m absolutely gutted, as I’ve been hyped for this event for months. I’ve been running the engine pretty hot all summer, and I was already thinking I’d need to give myself a break, but I assumed I’d make it through to the back half of this week without trouble. Well, selah—I guess the lesson here is to pay attention to the body when it starts to speak.

It seems I picked the right month to start a Mubi subscription, though!

1. This is of course completely the wrong idiom in the circumstances, because being sick is the only situation in which I ever wear trackie trousers outside of the gym. ↩︎