1:56 a.m. The important word here is fight! Pull up the drawbridge, heat up the hot oil, and prepare for battle. I probably will be able to dodge this one.

I don't get very many colds any more, and hardly any migraines. So, although I have a hilarious runny nose, I don't intend to let it get any further into the bod. I'm not scared of it; I don't need the vacation, and since I really like to sneeze, I'm drinking tea and enjoying the cold's futile little attempts to bring me down.

Like everyone else this time of year, I have far, far too much to do. I sneeze in its general direction.

I'm still printing out, cutting out, sending out Christmas postcards. I've just about used up most of the backs of the old script covers that I've accumulated over the last year. It's fun to send the folks at CAA and ICM dandy cards made from their own expensive cardstock -- I just hope it's not illegal.

Hours have passed since I started this entry, and I now have one miserable symptom that I can tell you about -- my thoughts have deserted me. They have run for cover. I am breathing through my mouth and things aren't looking pretty.

I know! I'll take a nice hot bath and plunge my face and nose into hot water. Or, how about a handy hint ... this one from another book I wrote a while ago called Zapcrafts (Microwaves are for More than Cooking).

They are -- stop snickering. You can dry flowers in them, but most important, you can make yourself a hot compress. Here's all you do: wring out a fluffy washcloth and put it in the microwave for about a minute. Take it out and slam it on your face.

And yes, I actually managed to turn a paragraph quite similar to the above into an actual recipe -- and! Get paid for it. That's what makes me a pro. I can show you how, too -- just ask me.

Don't make the washcloth too hot, don't stand in front of the microwave or your insides will turn to brisket, don't do anything I say without consulting with your doctor, or at least reading Dr. Scott's journal. He's very cute.

See? There's a paragraph sealed and delivered right there. Yes, I'm scraping bottom here. It's not a pretty sight.

My throat is scratchy and I have chills. I don't even want to glorify the symptoms Igor is trying to claim for himself. Suffice it to say that I made him some cranberry scones and he's somewhat content.

Tomorrow is going to be some serious chicken soup. And guess what?! I can show you how to make it from a box (sort of) and from stray ingredients found in any actual kitchen -- and you will swear Aunt Bea made it.

But that's tomorrow.

Do you think enchinacea really works? I have a box of the herb tea right here, and it says it has "potent root extract" -- do you think it will do me any good? Or, horrors! What if the guy who wrote for the box was a professional writer?

I'm doomed.