Penicillin makes me feel sick and my head is a lolling tank of aquarium gravel.
Seems my freelance life and comix career [publishing is taking a worse dive than ever before and page rates are criminal] coupled with all the time/effort/energy I put into Trip City has finally, physically [and mentally?] compromised me. Sitting and stressing all day at near age 45 while trying to make ends meet [still? really? get it together, Dean!] is not doing me any favors. I need stability, less work, more money, weekends for respite and recreation, and indulge a vacation or three. Hopscotching between piece meal gigs that pay Styrofoam peanuts [what, no nutrition?] and developing a deluge of pitches while producing/curating free weekly content is starting to murder me slowly.
Rally. Turn that pulp into a blockbuster. Make money while you sleep.