The garland. It got hung. On December 24th by BF.
Twitter. I’m on there. Are you? If so, let me know so I can look you up. I don’t completely get it but I am slowly coming to the 21st century.
The book. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. I sat my fanny down in my chair all day long yesterday and typed and typed and typed. My fanny and wrists may never be the same, but this book is almost done. That sound you hear? The soundtrack to my dance of joy. Although, it will soon be replaced by the soundtrack of anxiety and nerves. See, turning a book into an editor is sort of like telling someone you love him/her first. You just don’t have any idea what he or she is going to say back. You think that it might be that he or she loves you, too, but there’s that minute of silence (or in the case of turning in a book and waiting, weeks, weeks of silence). And that silence is maddening! What does it mean? Did the tilting of his head as he heard me say it mean he loves me too? Or does it mean he pities me. Ay.