If I have had a conversation with any of you in the past day or so, I hereby disclaim responsibility, owing to my discovery, moments ago, that I've been taking several times the recommended dose of cough syrup. The overdose was an accident, and stemmed from my disinclination to look at the little cup that came with the syrup to see how much it held. I assumed it was one teaspoon. And it turns out that I estimated low. It was all right when I was taking one "teaspoon" of the stuff, but when I looked at the recommended dosage, and realized I should be taking four teaspoons, the damage really added up. It turns out that the cup holds three teaspoons, so I can't take responsibility for anything I might have said or done. Although I do request stories or pictures, if any of you have any. (Of me, I mean. If I want to see you, I'll just use my telescope.)

And... woo hooooo! Although that could just be the medicine talking.

Thank you for all your well-wishes, I do appreciate them, and will print them out and tape them to my outfit for Friday night, the night of the big performance. Maybe I'll tape them to my bra, so they won't show to the audience, I haven't decided yet.

Another thing I haven't decided is what to wear. I have been driving everyone crazy with my questions on this subject, because I cannot make up my mind, and I'm fixated on the idea that it might matter. In this matter, I'm blaming my indecisive Libra nature (three planets in Libra, for maximum inbalance). And go ahead, rag on me for my airy-fairy hippie dippie ways, but I'm not changing my mind.

The guys in my life, God bless them, have been NO HELP AT ALL on this front, and I'm at my wits' end with them, truly. The Keelhauler, while very sweet, is oddly noncommittal on the subject of what I might wear onstage. If you remember the scene in "Big" where Tom Hanks's girlfriend suddenly wants to talk about relationships, and he is overcome with shyness and starts hitting her with a comic book, that is essentially the scenario I'm experiencing, only over the phone. He is a Taurus, which I believe is manifesting itself in a stubborn refusal to choose an outfit for me.

So, then I asked Mathrock, our great guitarist, for his advice, couching it inside a query about what he would be wearing. "Ummmmmmm... I don't know," he said, above the clanking noise of the brewery where he works. He was holding the phone with one hand, and hosing off a disassembled heat exchanger with the other, so I can't say I had his full attention. "Ask Al," he said. He does not know my friend Al, but damn, that was a good hand-off. Mathrock is another Libra, so I should have known better than to consult him on the decision-making front.

So, I text-messaged Al, "What am I going to wear--I'm going crazy!" and he texted back, "That happens to me--but only right before a gig." I'd forgotten that he is a Libra, too. Nobody is willing to make a decision, here, so I'm going to leave it to fate. On Friday, I'm going to reach into my closet and pick out the first two things I touch. I do not care if that ends up being two shirts, a scarf and a belt, or a tube top and a winter coat. I'm going to take a bunch of cough syrup and head out in whatever fate allows.

I'm sure it's all for the best.

Star of the day. . .John Krasinski, yet again