Well, crap.
Nothing to worry about, nothing’s on fire, no need to cue any sad music. But it doesn’t look like I can make it to Book Soup this weekend. For the 0.6, six, sixteen, or sixty of you who would have been there, my apologies.
I encourage you to imagine that I am entering rehab after a long descent into drug-addled oblivion. If my publicist announces that I am "dehydrated," well, wink wink, nudge nudge.