On a less sickening note, I had a very nice dinner last night. Our house guest took us out to Le Sardine, a very nice local French place which has a half-price deal on their extensive wine list on Monday nights. So we got a yummy thick red wine, fruity and yet sturdy, and I had foie gras and the boys had French onion soup, and then I had halibut with risotto in a champagne sauce and Kevin had hangar steak and David had lamb, and we finished off with a chocolate souffle and a Grand Marnier souffle (which latter was the best thing ever), and it was good. I like nice house guests who buy me dinner. Afterwards, we came home and watched a re-run of Angel and then the wine sent me right off for about ten hours of sleep. Oof.
Today, I'm going to try to churn through the TOR synopses that have built up -- I'm happy to do this on an ongoing basis, but I can't let it pile up, or it'll become a chore. And then read the sets of three chapters that I requested. And then, I imagine I'll have to write some rejection letters. 'Cause that's just the way it goes. Sadness. Woe.
If I can get through that by, oh, say 2, then there'll be plenty of time for starting to actually edit the Blowfish anthology, which is supposed to be my big task for this week. No more procrastinating. Just do!