Where on earth is that woman?

Day-job continues Beyond Insane. Yesterday's high-point was the milkshakes I hunted and gathered on the way home, and with which Steve and I toasted the fact that no perfessers had died at my hand. Score!

If you've emailed me regarding Eidolon orders, Saltation orders -- or, well, anything, actually...I have your message. Thank you for writing; I love you guys. No, really. Last night's choice of what to do with the jolt of milkshake energy was (1) answer accumulated email, or (2)work on Fledgling revisions. Theo won. Email might be on this evening's agenda. It could happen. In any case, I will answer; just be patient.

At the day-job, today is payday. That's something, eh? Oh, and my friend over in Trade Books at the bookstore writes to let me know that two copies of Duainfey are up on the New Books endcap. As I've yet to actually see Duainfey in the wild, maybe I'll stroll over to the bookstore and take a look. Maybe I'll treat myself to a mocha while I'm out, and take the long way back to the library. This is beginning to look like A Plan. And if Somebody destroys the photocopier while I'm out, well...tough.

I see on the weather map that the remains of Hanna Storm are due to scramble over Maine on Suday. Be a nice day to go to the ocean. Hmmm. *Grasshopper Writer and Deadline Writer set up for the best two outta three in arm-wrestling*

New folks on the f'list -- welcome! We're a little disorganized hereabouts, and never really cleaned up after Denvention. Right a chair, find a glass and make yourselves at home.

Everybody have a nice day. Stay outta trouble, if at all possible. If it's not possible...well, pick your hill, right?

Later.