11 December 2003 - 9:19 a.m.
Growling at typos, plotting for parties (an onion tart and deviled eggs ahead), hunting for my high G, rejoicing in acceptances (one of them even mine), savoring unsolicited compliments, and cursing bank errors (just got charged a returned check fee for a deposit from someone we've never heard of who didn't have sufficient funds. It'll get straightened out, of course, but first I have to renew the three books I'd been hoping to read by tomorrow. . .).
Still fussing with the design of my holiday card, too, which means I haven't set the print run yet, which means you have time to drop me a note with your address if you'd like to be on the list. Condition: I do expect a card in return. It doesn't have to be a greeting card if you don't have any handy - notecards featuring Virginia Woolf or bassoons or a sheet of paper with your favorite poem printed on it. . .. Alternatively, I could be your excuse to splurge on that nifty Hanukkah card you'd buy if only you could think of someone to buy it for. *grin*
I might even take cookies.
(I'm kidding, although I think I do hear a brownie calling my name. . .).
(I adore mail, but I don't have that much circulating right now. With the holidays, I haven't the time or focus to tug the stuff in my pending folder up another notch, hence this shamelessly resorting to other means of feeding my mailbox.)
[12:01 AM - Of course no sooner do I write than I spend most of the morning fussing with submissions. Perversity, thou knowst thy acolytes. . .but the bank and the library and a very annoying tilde have also been dealt with as well. Go me!]
(And to those of you who've already sent greetings - thank you!)
[11:52 a.m. - Ged fired one my way right away. Thanks, sweetie!]
Speaking of complicated (not to mention flat-out wrong):
One year ago: " Of course, the solution to terror is to practice . . ." Ah, so that's where that high G is hiding.
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