Pretty much any way I look at it, April has been a travesty. Much of what needed to be done, workwise, hasn't been done. I've lost day after day to anger and depression and worry and fear. A big check came weeks late, which meant that a trip to Manhattan that I needed to take at the beginning of the month still hasn't happened. The ms. for Dear Sweet Filthy World, which I should have turned in a week ago, is still incomplete. There's research in South County for The Starkeeper that desperately needed to be done this month, but none of it has, in part because of the inclement weather. There was an unexpected medical bill. And it's time for me to worry about Sirenia Digest #123, though it feels like I only just put out #122. All in all, it's a mess. And sitting here at this moment I honestly do not know how I'm going to fix it.
I'm not sure how to follow that.