I wish I was home in bed

Yesterday's dental situation ended at 5 pm with me, in the chair of an oral surgeon, having a wisdom tooth extracted. I should, without question, be home on the nice drugs they gave me. Instead I am here, doing final edits (we go to press Monday instead of Tuesday) and arguing via e-mail with Journal Santa Fe editor Mark Oswald about why I consider it wrong for a paper to read a story we write, re-report it, and then write it themselves, and not mention where the idea came from. Which is exactly what happened, according to the e-mail Oswald forwarded me from the Journal Santa Fe reporter in question who admits he got the idea for his story from our story.
Oh well, I feel like I've been arguing with Oswald about this for the better part of my 30s, and even my citation of the ethics hotline at Poynter doesn't appear to hold any weight with him. Even my citation of The New York Times and The Washington Post can't convince him. I feel like that scene in Annie Hall when the famous guy steps out of the movie line to tell the guy talking about him that he's wrong about his work. Or, rather, I feel like it would be nice if something like that would happen. Do you know which scene I mean? Because these drugs are kind of muddling my cognitive process. I sort of feel like calling the ethics hotline again, but since that would involve talking, which would involve taking the gauze out of my mouth, I think I'll leave it until next week. Or maybe I'll get every journalism expert I know, plus a few reporters from big newspapers, to put it in writing for me, since the only journalists I've ever met who think it's OK to not cite the work of another paper are the ones who work for the two dailies in Santa Fe.
OK, that sentence just screamed out Percoset.
Happy New Year! Hopefully I'll have most of my teeth the next time I write.