The launch party will be held in the con suite from 7-9pm on Saturday, and features The Evil Gazebo, Danielle Ackley-McPhail's The Halfling's Court, and the anthology Dead Souls, edited by Mark Deniz, in which I have a story. Jim Stratton, another Dead Souls contributor, will be joining us. There will be prizes, shiny, happy giveaways, including a gloriously handbound copy of The Evil Gazebo.
Friday, I have no panels scheduled, so the day will be reserved for drinking, and the night for sobering up for the ride home. I have informed Mr. Stratton that under no circumstances shall I have more than 5 of his infamous martinis.
Thursday - the car goes in for inspection, and hopefully for a fix of a nagging lock problem that causes the alarm to sound at inopportune moments, like just as the little ol' lady struggling with a large bag of groceries walks in front of my car.
Wednesday - there is no wednesday.
Tuesday - the car goes to the body shop for a new windshield and new rear lamp cover, so that it can later pass the aforementioned inspection.
Even if I refrain from buying large amounts of stuff at Philcon, this promises to be an expensive week.
On the bodily function front - got blood tests today so that my dr will feel better about the bp pills and such. The young woman who prepared to take my blood was nervous. Her hands shook a little as she pulled on her gloves. The older lab tech looked at the paperwork and told her which color vials to pull. She dabbed my arm with alcohol, tied me off with a rubber strap, and then, hands still shaking, pressed the needle against my skin.
She took a breath, the trembling stopped, and she pushed the needle through my skin. Perfect. Painless. The vials filled. She held the needle motionless while changing the vials. Again, perfect.
The older tech watched the entire procedure very closely. When it was done, she said, "Oh, good. I was wondering if you'd notice his vein goes a different direction from most people's."
Which explains why people fuck that up so often, and leave me with giant bruises. Once, at a different facility, the tech left me with a bruise about the size of a softball. I had to go back a few days later for more tests. She looked at my arm and said, "Wow, someone really did a number on your arm. Who drew your blood last time?" "You did." She excused herself, and the other tech came to draw my blood.
I have thus far failed to schedule an MRI for my shoulder. Their computer systems are down, and they still have no idea when they'll be back up. Sometimes I miss paper.