(no subject)
The postman has duly dragged me out of bed to bestow upon me the printed draft version of this book (expensive but, I figured, worth it for the absence of distractions) and now I get to take it to the library with some post-its and assault it with notes. In theory. I mean, in practice going down stairs and back up has made me feel like a newborn kitten and breakfast has failed to change that.
BUT IN THEORY I am going to the library to start editing NBO/KBV.
(I have been holding off grating my teeth over the number of very much more successful people who have come to complain to me about their lack of success, aware that I have friends who are in deeper, darker, more horrible holes who don't need to hear me sitting on my comfortable hillock complaining that I'm not at the level of people who are complaining to me that they're not at the level of THEIR friends but still. Some tact.)
BUT IN THEORY I am going to the library to start editing NBO/KBV.
(I have been holding off grating my teeth over the number of very much more successful people who have come to complain to me about their lack of success, aware that I have friends who are in deeper, darker, more horrible holes who don't need to hear me sitting on my comfortable hillock complaining that I'm not at the level of people who are complaining to me that they're not at the level of THEIR friends but still. Some tact.)