Okay, okay. A more detailed report.

Still no new lenses, and they have come in. Will have to get someone to run me out to HF and back so I can GET the damn things, because wow, am I not seeing so well.

I think I may be Typhoid Mary. Everyone around me has been deathly ill and by comparison, I’m fit as a ruddy fiddle. By comparison, I said. I’m not puking or flat on my back. I have a sore throat that comes and goes, which is normal for season-changes and stress-times. I get headaches; duh, if my sight’s crappy… I also cough. It must still be allergy season.

Best of all, I think my period falls on the weekend this time. Thus, I will be pretty much back to normal by Tuesday, October whatever. Yes.

. . .

On the fictive front, things are considerably stranger.

To begin with, the idea that should’ve died a horrible death once I wrote that short story for fantasy lit… hasn’t. It has, if anything, expanded into its very own miniverse.

I am mildly stalled on the Cabana Girl thing that Tim likes so much. Shit.

Still assembling my cast of characters for the low-fantasy epic about the revolution and the whatsit that’s been in progress for, I kid you not, about a decade now.

I might publish in the next fifty years. Really.

At least I don’t have any time to concentrate on myself. The less navel-gazing the better, I say.

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