Real Life is trickling through the cracks in the plaster, dripping from the rafters. Real Life is oozing from the gutters and leaving a mildew-slick film over everything.
I have not returned home in less than 14 hours any day this week. I am utterly whooped.
My envelopes lie, stamped and stacked, next to the computer.
Today, I finally had 15 minutes at the same time that I had a computer and some wit, and I found two places I may send manuscripts. I’ve printed them out, and will highlight the salient points and select one by this evening, having taken the brain-need from the process. This has been the longest walk to the mailbox, ever.
In other, brighter news, Ed is coming for the weekend, and he is generally good for removing Real Life from most things.
Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry