I’m feeling better today, which is odd, because theoretically I still have a ton of tight-deadline stuff to do. But I guess it feels more do-able. I sent the 300-word flash piece out, and updated some of my writing files, although I still have more stories to get back in the mail. I intended to work on the close-deadline story before I edited, but now I’m feeling like I’m in editing mode, so I’ll do that for a while instead.

It is, however, the sort of day when a hot cup of tea seems constantly necessary. So I’m drinking decaf Earl Grey right now.

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Ah, the frantic planning of seeing a Styx special show. It involves more subterfuge than invading a foreign country. Tani was actually IM-ing Sherri while simultaneously talking to me, and someone’s already scoped out the venue… Anyway, the plan is that she and I are heading up at 1 p.m. on Monday and meeting folks for lunch at the Hard Rock, which will bleed into someone else’s group dinner reservation, which will hopefully mean that we’re there early enough to get the prime seats.

And in other Stygian news, they’ve just announced a Phoenix date, which will perfectly coincide with our trip to Arkansas for Ken’s grandmother’s 90th birthday party, if we take the bike. Bwahaha!

Ahem. Back to editing. Really. Honest. I swear.

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Got a fair amount of editing done; less than my hard-core goal, but enough.

Then I worked on the Every Little Kiss story briefly, but other than noting what needs to be changed, I didn’t get much farther on it. I need to figure out a few minor things first. It’s SF erotica, and I’m no scientist, so I have to find a balance between “believable because it works in Star Trek” and “makes no sense”, for an erotica story of no more than 2K words. Why, I sometimes wonder, do I do this to myself? I think that at some point in time, I convinced myself it was fun. Problem is, sometimes it really _is_ fun.

Ken and I ran out to Trader Joe’s, and finally the fridge looks like someone actually lives here. We got food for Collegium this weekend, and supper things (pork chops and salmon). I think I haven’t yet mentioned that he’ll be in Dallas next week, Monday early to Thursday evening. We have food for the next few days, and then I’ll figure out what I’m eating while he’s gone. (Looks like Monday’s handled, what with all that Hard Rock Café food I’ll be chowing down in the name of Styx…)

Darling Meglet came to stay the night, and she and Cat and I hung out in the living room and were silly. Oh, I also made food for Collegium (hard boiled eggs, ham/salami-and-cream-cheese rollups), and ate an obscene amount of shrimp, because Meg brought an even more obscene amount of shrimp with her.

Ken, meanwhile, set up a wireless router, so I can wander anywhere in the house with Afalwen and still have Internet access. Of course, Afalwen is my writing computer, and thus I avoid the Internet while working on her. But still. Nifty to have access to the Internet, and the other computers, from anywhere.

It’s after midnight, and I had planned to go to bed by 11-ish, due to an early rising tomorrow, so I ought to go. But I’ll leave you with this amusing anecdote.

Towards the end of the evening, Meglet and I were talking in the kitchen. She was relating a scene from “Northern Exposure”, actually, sparked by my comment “Are you saying you don’t love me for my mind?” (which has no bearing on the actual anecdote, but it was amusing at the time). And she’s talking, and suddenly A SPIDER MATERIALIZES AN INCH FROM MY NOSE. I shrieked and jumped back, although I was already registering that it was a daddy longlegs, which don’t cause me to stop breathing like most spiders do (the bigger the body = the greater likelihood of Dayle passing out). Cat rushed from the library, took one look, and announced that this one was Ken’s job, in part because the evil beastie was heading for the ceiling. Ken arrived from the study, grabbed a paper towel, climbed up on the counters (one foot on each—rather impressive, I might add), and dealt with the situation.

Most of the time, the daddy longlegs lurk in the corners of the ceilings or behind toilets, and that’s okay. I let them. But this one, an inch from my nose (and I’m not exaggerating that detail, I swear), broke all sorts of boundary rules.

It’s late. I desperately must sleep.