Yesterday was the worst day since August 30th. Somehow, though, it was worse than that day. The only work that was done was the trip to Brown, to the Hay. I sorted through old Silk mss., but I'm having trouble finding a printed copy of the early version in which Nikki Ky was still Eddy Sung (from Billy Martin's Drawing Blood). And, as I said on Facebook yesterday, I spent much of the afternoon reading rejection letters for Silk, from pretty much every publisher who was publishing in 1996. I saved them all. Twenty-one years later, they're all pretty funny. Some will be printed, in facsimile, in the Centipede Press edition. It took over a year to sell that book, even with one of the best agents in NYC. Anyway, I was overwhelmed and tired, and I'm going back next week to finish the work I started yesterday. First, though, I have to get Sirenia Digest No. 141 out of the way.
And I have a bunch of notes from the person who's translating Agents of Dreamland into Spanish, a bunch of questions to be answered.
Last night, dinner from Bucktown. I've learned how to tear a hamburger into tiny little pieces that can be eaten with my mouthful of shattered, rotten teeth. Adaptive behavior at its best.