Blech.
A relatively uneasy weekend. The Writers Weekend has just passed, and while it was very nice and Karen Junker and her team did a great job, I didn't get nearly as much time to spend at it, due to a big, honking, messy deadline that's coming up at work. One of those "We absolutely need it by Wednesday and by the way here are most recent changes" deadlines. So while I showed up to deliver my requisite panels and see some good friends and got to meet Jo Beverly, I didn't get much of a chance to embrace the entire happening.
And here it is Monday and I'm already worn out - the work week has gone all ourobouros on me.
On the other hand, I have finally stopped dreaming about this project, which has been a problem of late as well. Instead, I have been dreaming of a bordello/theater/eatery established in a barn in the flat farmland south of Chicago, surrounded by prehistoric mammals.
Then again, that might just be the result of the heat.
More later,
Born in the 1900s
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Or: How old am I, really? I’m seeing this a lot of late, and it bugs me. It
bugs me enough that I got out my trusty Chicago Manual of Style, 18th
edition, ...
2 days ago