Last night, at about 2 am I found myself considering asking Dan to take me to emergency. I couldn’t breathe and I’m fairly sure your bronchi aren’t something you should be able to listen to like a wind orchestra. Every minute it seemed like my wind pipe was more constricted and I was choking to death. And then I realized that I when we asked for the feather bedding to be removed from the room, they hadn’t thought the coverlets on the bed needed to be removed. Once they were removed, I was able to breathe almost instantly, and I’m feeling much better today than yesterday. so those of you who saw me gasping and looking like I was dying yesterday — it’s not the black plague, it’s my old friend an allergy to feathers.
This morning I have discovered that a writer is a perfect mechanism for the distilling of caffeine from coffee — needing only frequent trips to the bathroom.
After staying up ridiculous late, hanging out with guests of honor Gordon and Ilona Andrews, coffee and coke are sort of the stuff of life.
After participating in a sedate panel on dragons, where I believe I encouraged the audience to throw fruit at us — I was VERY sleepy and my voice hasn’t recovered from the horrible night — I am now sitting at a panel with the guests of honor, my son Robert Hoyt and virtual guest Mike Stackpole, participating through second life, about urban fantasy.
A question was thrown to me and I believe I was thoroughly inane in my answer, as I was trying to figure out how much I could say before my voice died altogether.
More to come….
According To Hoyt 
We always have this feather problem when we stay in hotels, too, darn it. B is so darn allergic, and in the good hotels all they have are down pillows, comforters, and sometimes mattress padders as well.
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What kind of coke was that? ;)
Way to go Robert, panel guest of honour!!!
Glad it turned out to be feather allergyand not something worse.
*hugs*
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