Neil was cancelled.

I'm going back to bed.

Sigh.

Are sedatives supposed to stop working? I managed six very spotty hours of sleep last night WITH medical intervention. We'll find out in an hour if it was enough!

Right now, my big worries are the rain, whether my bra is showing (considering changing my shirt), and making an idiot of myself. "You're Neil." "Yes, I am." "You're Neil!"

As an illustration, I direct you to this graph.

Must put on some pants now. I do, indeed, wish to continue fighting crime today.

*ODE TO JOY*

I! HAVE! SLEPT! WOOOHOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

Thanks to chemical intervention, I managed about 16 hours, and now I feel like myself. Still need a shower and to do the laundry, but I'm editing again. Editing goooood. (Also? I have mint tea. Mmmm.) Should probably eat something later to make up for the less-than-500 calories I've had a day for the whole dang week, but I don't see that being much of a problem. Need to eat my roasted beets, anyway. Normally, they'd be long gone by now.

All right, back to work. I want to have book one down to 50-55K before I begin compressing book two. Together, they need to be about 120K.

Starting day three....

In the last 72 hours, I've managed maybe--MAYBE--eight hours of shuteye. This insomnia hits every summer when the mould spore spikes, but it's not normally this bad. Going to try and get something for it tomorrow. I need this mess straightened out at least somewhat before Saturday, because I'm meeting NEIL FUCKING GAIMAN.

Not that "Fucking" is his middle name. According to Wikipedia, it's Richard (which, coincidentally, is my dad's name). But you get the point.

I've had my ticket since April. I'm in the third row for the screening of Beowulf, I have access to the early signing, and I'm going to the post-movie reception. (I splurged on my mad money portion of this year's tax return.) There is no effing way I'm missing this thing due to my immune system's eccentricities. If I have to down a bottle of sherry to knock myself out, well, it's probably a good thing I only buy the small bottles.

Due to the lack of sleep, editing is going very, very slowly because I don't trust my judgement right now. OTOH, knitting is going amazingly well, apart from the lace scarf I tried to start tonight, only for Crowley to jump into my lap and accidentally pull the needle loose. No big. He needed cuddles anyway. I did finish a Victorian-era shawl this evening. The Import thinks it's hideous (it's light grey, with medium grey edging), but I love it to death. My mom, alas, will very likely find a way to claim it for herself. I may have to make another one to fend her off. Keep in mind, the lace scarf is for her. I'm fairly sure any additional claims she lays are payback for the crap I gave her as a child.

All right. I'm terminally awake, so I'm going to be productive. In other words, let's hear it for PBS, Nova, and DVR technology.

Hmm.

There appears to be some good from my newly mega-restrictive diet. The wonderful pink linen skirt I bought a few weeks ago is hanging off my hips. Still stays up, so it still technically fits (writer fashion!), but I'm not sure how much longer it'll be before I have to consign it for something else. Or, y'know, rip the side seams, reduce the waistband, and keep it for another few months.

Must get back to editing.

Am reading the sequel to The Winter Prince, A Coalition of Lions. Literally read half of it last night, and will probably finish tonight. Elizabeth E. Wein is incredible, and I dearly need to get hold of The Mark of Solomon (both books).

Sigh.

George Carlin died.

Not funny. Not funny at ALL.

W00T!

Go and congratulate Kelly on her sale! Go, Kelly! =)

An Open Letter

Dear Aspiring Writers,

When writing your first good novel, make sure to keep it as short as possible. I didn't. Now I'm learning the hard way how to completely restructure two long books to fit into one short one. I'll be finishing the sherry tonight and considering getting another bottle--cooking sherry, if necessary. Also? Figuring out how a girl in Victorian London would show her pr0n collection to a boy she's not remotely interested in is harder than it sounds.

I shall now return to editing, all the time fighting to ignore the suddenly clarion call of laundry. While the Import is ecstatic over my new interest in housework, it's not terribly mutual, and I'd like to hide under a rock until it passes.

Love,

Me

Hmm.

*checks news*

*notes that neither California nor Massachusetts have slid into the ocean yet*

*waves little happy flag*

Carry on.

The World's Sexiest Pin-Up

Aldous Huxley, as seen in his audition shoot for Hot Transkitty. Or, y'know, having a bath after I've put the mattress pad back on the bed. A stripped bed is an Aldous magnet. (He had a life-threatening urinary blockage last year and had to have all his equipment amputated. Hence, my cat is transgender.)

I'll post pics of Baby and Crowley when I have some decent ones. Please forgive the slightly blurry quality. The Import is in Florida for a week, and he took the camera with him. I'm just lucky I found my phone before Aldous decided he was clean.